


What Your Sacrifice Was For

by Meddalarksen, victoriousscarf



Category: Cats - Andrew Lloyd Webber
Genre: "Legal" Rape (Arranged Marriage), 1890s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Arranged Marriage, Minor Character Death, Multi, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-03
Packaged: 2017-11-11 09:32:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 103,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meddalarksen/pseuds/Meddalarksen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/victoriousscarf/pseuds/victoriousscarf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victorian Era AU. The year is 1896, when the Baron's heir Mistoffelees returns home. Honest lawyers, political intrigue, the criminal underworld, socialist newspaper editors and the threat of an engagement greet him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Or He's Done This Before

Looking around the foyer, Mistoffelees Quaxo leaned against the marble banister, arms crossed over his chest. Perhaps it was not the most graceful or polite position, but he was on edge already.

Coricopat Zimmerman knocked on the door to Bustopher Jones' townhouse. A servant opened the door a moment later, "Yes?"

"I'm Coricopat Zimmerman with Bailey and Associates. I'm here to speak with His Lordship as regards his northern estates."

"Of course," The butler stepped aside to allow the lawyer passage. "I will let His Lordship know that you are here."

Mistoffelees straightened from where he was still at the top of the stairs. His position allowed him to hear and see who was coming in, without affording them the same. However, he waited until the Butler made it up the stairs to actually tell him someone was there before stepping out. "Mr. Zimmerman. The lawyer I presume?"

The solicitor's grey eyes moved up the stairs and he nodded, "Yes, sir. That's me."

He managed not to look displeased. "If you'll come with me then? My uncle can not be bothered today and asked me to deal with his business instead." He hoped he didn't sound quite as bitter as he might have felt over that.

Coricopat nodded very slightly, ascending the stairs, "But of course, sir." He knew better than to ask what Lord Jones was doing, it wasn't his business to know. Biting back the other questions that came to mind he finally reached the landing.

Mistoffelees glanced the other over before opening the door to the library, waiting for the other to walk through before closing the door behind them. Not that his uncle had bothered to tell him what this was about or anything. "If you'll sit? What exactly is the business today anyway?"

The lawyer took a seat, withdrawing papers from his briefcase, "Some final paperwork regarding the sale of some properties in the North. Two of the smaller plots of land I believe."

"Right," Mistoffelees said, sitting across from him. Why would that have been too hard to explain before sending him out to talk to the lawyer?

"Can you sign for him?" Coricopat set the papers on the small table between the chairs.

"I should be able to manage," he replied. He was fairly sure he shouldn't, didn't have that authority. But, if his uncle had pushed this off on him, forging would perhaps not go amiss.

"Perfect." He sorted through the papers, finding the ones that actually needed signatures, and withdrew a fountain pen from his inner coat pocket, holding it out to the other.

Mistoffelees blinked at the pen before taking it, looking over the papers quickly. "I assume you've already gone over this with my uncle then?"

"Several times. All we were meeting for today was for the signatures on the papers."

Mistoffelees nodded, reading them quickly. Coricopat watched him quietly, his tail tapping against his leg as he looked around the library. He couldn't recall having been in this room, usually he met His Lordship in the study.

Still reading, Mistoffelees shifted slightly. He'd been home in London for a month and his uncle was having him meet with the lawyer. He seemed nice enough, but the thought was enough to send the fur along his spine up. "Do you work with my uncle much?" he asked to break the silence.

"The firm I work for has seen to his business interests for as long as he has had the estate, if I recall correctly. I, myself only started working with his interests a couple of years ago."

Mistoffelees nodded. "You seemed surprised that I was the one doing his business. He doesn't do this often?"

Coricopat shook his head, "I don't believe I've ever met with someone other than him."

"Oh," Mistoffelees said, taking extra care with the flourish on the J.

"Then again, the only people he normally has to hand it off to are servants or his sister or daughter."

Mistoffelees' mouth twisted slightly. "Lovely. No offense to you, but I don't particular want him to make a habit of it."

"No, that's quite alright." Coricopat considered for a moment before finally asking the question that had been on his mind, "I don't believe I've seen you about before. Have you just returned home?"

"Yes," he said, looking over the final page. "Finished with all the schooling I'll be able to do, with an extended tour around Europe tacked onto that."

"Did you enjoy the Continent then?"

"Yes," Mistoffelees replied with a faint smile. "Have you ever gone?"

"Only to Northern France, I'm afraid, and only once."

The smaller tom nodded. "Well, Northern France can be quite lovely. I tend to be the type that's boring to travel with though-I just want to spend all day in the ruins. It didn't please my traveling companions."

"That actually sounds fascinating. There's never enough time for those sorts of things."

"No, there really isn't," Mistoffelees agreed with a small smile.

"You've had the chance to see some though I'm sure?"

Mistoffelees nodded. "More than my companions would have liked. Here," he said, handing the papers back over, and pausing as he remembered to cap the pen and hand that back as well.

Coricopat glanced over the papers, nodding slightly and accepting the pen again, "Thank you."

"I'm not entirely sure this is the sort of interaction you thank someone for, but you're welcome," Mistoffelees told him with a faint smile.

"It means that the business is completed, so I find that cause enough for thanks, sir," the lawyer returned the smile before placing the papers in his briefcase.

"I suppose so," Mistoffelees replied. "On the plus side, you did not have to actually deal with my uncle today, so you might consider that a bonus. I can see you to the door if you like?"

"I can see myself out, if you have other things to attend to."

Mistoffelees shrugged. "None other than being polite."

Cori rose, "Well, I'm certainly not adverse to it, if it's not bother."

Mistoffelees shrugged again before rising as well. "No bother, not really." Opening the door, he held it for Coricopat before heading for the stairs again.

The lawyer followed him quietly, his gaze flickering around the hall as they made their way to entry. Mistoffelees glanced back, following his gaze around the hall and his mouth thinned slightly. He never much liked his uncle's tastes in decor, and living surrounded by it was not helping said uncle's case much.

They descended the stairs, Coricopat pausing at the door, "Thank you again, sir. Take care."

"Take care yourself," Mistoffelees replied. "Good luck with the rest of your business today."

The taller cat slipped out of the house, closing the door softly behind him and returning to the business offices of his firm. Once he was gone Mistoffelees closed the door and leaned back against it, sighing softly back up at the staircase of the house. Luckily it was mostly empty, but that was depressing in it's own way. Shaking his head at himself, he slipped back upstairs to the library, closing the door after himself.

v.v.v.v

Back at the office of Bailey's Law Associates, Macavity Hollister was tossing what might have been former case notes into a basket across the room, looking more bored than he would dare if Bailey's door was open.

Coricopat entered, eying his friend warily before stepping through the line of fire and settling at his desk, across from Macavity's. The ginger tabby perked visibly at that. "Cor! You're back. How was the baron?"

"I didn't see him. His nephew dealt with the business today."

Macavity's eyebrows shot up. "His nephew. He has a nephew? He has a nephew that does his business? I feel like there's so much I've been missing."

"Apparently said nephew only just returned form school, followed by an extended tour of Europe."

"Huh," Macavity considered. "The gossip of this town has failed me. That is such a disappointment. Alright, well we know what the lordship is like, what's our new nephew like then?"

"Professional. He seemed a good deal less than thrilled with having to conduct his uncle's business."

"Well, you said he just got out of school? Young then, isn't he? What youngling wants to conduct their uncle's business?" Macavity shrugged. "Correction, noble youngling. Do they ever do anything besides sit pretty and read Latin?"

"Go to ruins." Cori responded absently as he went over the papers, pausing at the sight of the signatures. He'd only checked that there was a signature when he'd glanced through earlier.

"Ruins?" Macavity blinked and tossed a pencil at Coricopat's head. "That's different. Something the matter over there?"

The mottled top caught the pencil and stuck it in his desk drawer, "The signatures."

"What about them?" Macavity asked, his gaze following his pencil's disappearance. He'd have to break into Cori's drawer that night it looked like and recover his fallen pencils.

"They're His Lordship's."

Macavity blinked. "They weren't signed before were they?"

"No. I watched him sign these."

For a moment the ginger tabby paused before grinning. "Wait," he leaned forward, lowering his voice slightly so Bailey wouldn't hear. "You mean the kit forged Jones' signatures? Are you serious?"

"It certainly looks like it. Grab me one of the older contracts, would you?"

Macavity rose, finding one in the files and setting it beside Coricopat. The other lawyer withdrew one of the papers he knew Jones had signed and set it next to the latest contract for comparison. Macavity leaned over his shoulder and laughed softly.

"That is a very good forgery, especially from memory."

"So either he has an amazing memory, has a talent for forgery, or he's done this before," Macavity said, shaking his head.

"Or all three. This was not exactly what I meant when I asked if he could sign for his uncle."

Macavity laughed again, far too amused by the entire idea. "But he said he was sent to deal with it right?"

"He did. He didn't know what he was dealing with, but yes he did."

"Well, he seems to have dealt with it," Macavity said, still with a grin. "Not how I would have expected but there you go."

"Well, at least that's out of the way and I don't have to worry about whether or not I have to go back to get the baron's own signature."

Still chuckling, the ginger tabby returned to his own seat. "And you didn't even have to deal with the baron himself. I'm assuming the nephew was at least more charming?"

"He was decent enough. Not exactly what I'd expect of a nobleman's relative."

"Oh?" Macavity asked, a little too eager for gossip as usual.

"Nothing really of note, just not as egotistical as the ones I usually deal with."

"Interesting. I never even knew Jones had a nephew, and you know how the gossip mill treats Jones. Sometimes I think Hunt has a personal vendetta against the Baron but is unable to come out and say it in the newspapers. Point being, color me surprised here. Besides, I can't have heard that one right.  _Jones'_  blood relative isn't egotistical? I was sure it was in the blood."

"Apparently it's not. Do you recall anything Hunt has said in regards to Jones' sister?"

"Not really?" Macavity said considering. "I mean, he tends to leave the queens alone. Something about her being married at some point. She still wears black trimming on all her gowns."

"Hm, well, it's only the two of them as siblings, yes?"

"Yeah, so it's safe to assume it's her kit. Now you've got me all curious about him."

"He's nice enough, less ego than I expected, and apparently like old ruins."

"That just makes me more curious," Macavity informed him.

"Well, it's all I know," Cori informed him, frowning at him slightly.

"Well, now I'm going to have to go and snoop. There goes my evening plans," his partner told him with a grin.

"You could just leave off for once?"

"Naw, this sounds like too much fun."

"Oh for the love of God, Mac, get a life outside of gossip."

Macavity arched a slow eyebrow at him, as if questioning whether he really wanted Mac to pick up on his other extra circular activities.

"You know what? Forget I said anything. Just...you could find  _something_  else to do that was legal."

"But anything else is boring," Macavity protested.

"So be bored."

"But that's boring!" Macavity exclaimed, lobbing another pencil at the mottled tom's head.

Cori caught it, putting it in his desk drawer with the others he'd gathered. Macavity glared at him but it didn't last long as he laughed again. "Seriously Cor, you lack a life. All you do is work and other boring things."

"I like my life the way it is, thank you."

"But it's  _boring_ ," Macavity protested.

"But I like it that way."

Macavity rolled his eyes. "There is just no help for you. Pass me the Smith file would you?" Coricopat located the file and handed it over to the other lawyer before turning back to his own work.


	2. Highly Skeptical of Romance Without a Campfire

Entering the elegant restaurant, Mistoffelees glanced around. Afternoon sunlight came in from the windows, and his eyes finally fell on the table reserved. Pouncival Smythe and Tumblebrutus Carpenter were already at the table. Pounce looked up as Mistoffelees entered, offering him a wide smile and waving him over.

Tumble turned around slightly to see the other, his smile more subdued though no less welcoming, "Afternoon, Misto. How're you doing this fine day?"

"Well," he said, offering them both a smile and sitting. "It is a fine day, and suddenly infinitely better for being out and among friends."

Pounce nodded his agreement, "How are you settling in to city life?"

Mistoffelees' smile suddenly became a great deal more strained. "I suppose I can simply say I preferred school life, or that of a traveler. Do you think it's too late to become a nomad?"

"Probably... though if you find it's not I might just join you," Pouncival offered.

Mistoffelees laughed softly. "Alright, I will see what I can find out. I assume from your answer you're doing just as well as me. What of you, Tumble?" he asked, glancing over.

"I'm doing pretty well. You know my plans have pretty well always coincided with Father's. I'm in process on finding a position in politics. My only complaint may be the endless string of dinners we're having under the pretense of welcoming me home and reacquainting me with family friends and people of influence."

"At this point I might not even mind that," Mistoffelees sighed. "But you're right, you've always been the least inclined to run off and join a gypsy caravan."

"I wouldn't mind it much myself, if not for the fact that every one of those families have at least one eligible daughter. And no, I'd much prefer the comfort of an armchair to time spent round a campfire."

"But campfires are so romantic," Mistoffelees protested with a grin. "That's your problem, Tumble, you have a very subdued sense of romance. But yes, the parade of eligible daughters. Enjoy that while you may."

"Romance can exist without a campfire, Misto," Tumble replied with a smile.

Pounce shrugged, "It can, but not so much in London parlors."

"I am highly skeptical of romance without a campfire," Mistoffelees informed him. "Where else would you look to find it?"

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with it being born in the parlors of London. There are several happily married couples in society," Tumble declared.

"Several?" Mistoffelees gave him a long look. "That implies a very low number out of hundreds of them."

"Several that come immediately to mind, then," Tumble replied.

"You're not convincing me," Mistoffelees told him. "Like who then?"

"The Jacobsens. My parents. The Carlisles. Oh, and do you remember John Green, from school? He got married two years back and the two of them are quite happy."

"Happy or content?" Mistoffelees asked. "There is a difference."

"Alright, we'll call my parents content. The others I would genuinely call happy. I know John's still head over heels for the young woman he married," Tumble said.

The smaller tom still didn't look impressed. "He may certainly appear to be so, but do you really expect that to last?"

"I think it certainly could. Perhaps I'm overly optimistic in that regard, but I disagree that every marriage in our class is an unhappy loveless one."

"Well, the proportions are skewed against us, even if not every one isn't unhappy," Mistoffelees replied, tilting his glass of water to the other slightly, conceding at least part of the point.

"So I can still hope," Tumble replied quietly.

Mistoffelees' ears flickered back. He felt suddenly bad for being so brazen. "Is your father really pushing it?" he asked softly.

"No. My mother is. Which means father will be soon enough."

The black tom darted a glance over to Pounce and back to Tumble. "Oh. Well, I suppose I can hope for your sake too then?"

Pounce shrugged, "We give you our best wishes, Tumble."

"Thank you. We'll see where it ends up I suppose."

"And you, Pounce?" Mistoffelees asked. "Have your parents started on that yet?"

"No. Father's still focused on convincing me to try politics. We haven't gotten much past arguments that usually end with me telling him rather unkindly to sod off. We go about a week without speaking and then it comes up again. I think I've horrified my mother for the rest of her living days through those arguments though," the other tom replied

Mistoffelees bit back a smile. "Well, so long as it works out?" he offered.

Pouncival shrugged, "Yeah, as long as I can divert politics I should be able to divert marriage as well."

Tumble shook his head at them, "There are easier ways to deal with your parents, Pounce."

"Your parents are just easier to deal with," Mistoffelees replied. Tumble's brow rose at that, but he didn't disagree. "Parental figures," Mistoffelees amended, more to himself then them. After all, only his mother was alive and she had never asked anything of him. The demands of his uncle, however, were another story entirely.

Pounce glanced at Misto, but nodded his agreement.

Mistoffelees shifted, glancing around. "This is a nice place," he managed. "A bit different from where we went while at school, but nice." Which was putting it lightly, since this was far fancier than the old pub they'd found their first term at college.

Tumble nodded slightly, "It is rather nice."

"A bit too stuffy in some ways. I vote finding a decent pub for our next outing," Pounce responded looking around at the elegant furnishings.

The black tom laughed at that. "Alright, shall we look around for one? And do you think our final member would lower himself to that level, if he ever shows up?" Mistoffelees asked.

"I think we should." Pouncival grinned, "I'm kind of hoping not. For both points."

"He'd probably come just to make sure no one else enjoyed themselves," Tumble responded.

Mistoffelees' brow quirked up and he hid another laugh behind his glass. "No one's feeling bitter today then?"

Tumble looked up in surprise at that, "Bitter?"

The smallest of the three shrugged. "No? No one seems sad he's... really late," he said, frowning at his watch. "Alright, this is late even for him."

"Maybe he fell into the Thames," Pounce responded, almost cheerfully, earning him a kick under the table from Tumble.

"We could be so hopeful," Mistoffelees replied, carefully moving his leg away under the table to where he thought Tumble couldn't reach.

Tumble just offered him a long look, "I don't like him either, but he is still my cousin, the two of you could be a little less hopeful that he drowned."

Pouncival grinned slyly, "I never said he drowned, just that he fell in. You sure you're not with us on this point, Tumble?"

"I-I am quite sure."

"No you're not," Mistoffelees informed him. "But I can suppose I can suspend hopes of him drowning for your sake. I will, however, hold out that he got run over by a carriage."

Tumble rolled his eyes, sipping at his drink. Mistoffelees managed not to say anything, biting his lip. He tensed slightly though as a voice spoke behind him.

"I'm glad to see no one's actually ordered any food without me," Plato said, breezing in.

Titling his head back, Mistoffelees attempted to convince his tail to unwind from the leg of the chair. "You're unfashionably late. You would have deserved it if we had."

Pounce shrugged, "Besides, I was rather hoping you'd had your head bashed in or drowned. It rather spoils my appetite."

Plato froze for a moment and Mistoffelees glanced at Pounce quickly, trying not to smile more for Tumble's sake, but still a little surprised by the other's honesty. Glaring, Plato took a seat. "You're welcome to eat wherever you like, Pouncival."

"Wherever I like? Well then I think here and now sounds good."

"I wouldn't want to put you off your appetite," Plato said sweetly.

"Oh no, that was just the gruesome pictures of your death in my mind that was doing that. Now that I see you alive and well I should be able to eat fine."

Mistoffelees bowed his head not to laugh at that. Plato glared at the pair of them, as if suspecting Mistoffelees had been in on it. "Well, I'm sorry for my unfashionably late appearance, but I was in a meeting and felt it rude to leave before my business was finished."

Tumble sighed, "You're all rising to the bait, for the love of God.."

"I like bait," Mistoffelees mumbled into his glass and fell silent.

Plato sniffed. "Well, some people just cannot appreciate others," he said with a look in Pounce's direction.

"What was the business?" Mistoffelees asked quickly in an attempt to change the topic.

"I am not at liberty to discuss that yet," Plato said, voice oozing arrogance.

Pounce rolled his eyes, "Then bringing it up was pointless. What was it, Plato?"

"A question about a queen," he replied and Mistoffelees' face became slightly pinched. "And I brought it up to explain my lateness, not to gossip about someone's honor."

Pouncival's brow rose, "Someone's honor? When has that entered the conversation? Did you hear it come up Tumble?"

The other brown and white patched tom shook his head slightly, but didn't say anything.

"Well, it concerns a queen," Plato said as if that explained everything.

"So it wasn't a duel, meaning no damage to her honor...so my guess is an engagement," Pounce said. Plato primly shut up and Mistoffelees looked around for the nearest waiter.

The waiter came over and took their orders before slipping away again, barely interrupting their flow of conversation. It was not like they did not know what they were going to order anyway, having eaten in many such places numerous times together.

Tumble glanced around the table, before speaking quietly, "How is politics looking for you, Plato?"

"I believe I should be able to take my seat soon," he replied, voice still prim and giving Pounce a dirty look over the table. His cousin nodded, glancing at Pounce who was returning Plato's look with his best unimpressed expression.

"Well that should be nice," Mistoffelees said, voice somewhat strained. Why did he come to these lunches again? As soon as Plato showed up, even if it was very late, it went to hell.

"Well, at least you'll fit right in with the rest of the egotistical hypocrites," Pounce remarked idly. "You'll be lost in the mix, Plato, because once you're in politics your natural pride and tendency toward being an ass will be eclipsed by those with more practice."

Mistoffelees considered not waiting for the food and just leaving. It seemed better on his sanity.

"And where will you be Pounce?" Plato asked, voice smooth and sweet. "On a farm somewhere, playing with the pigs? Or perhaps in your more natural habit as a drunkard. Maybe you could do both?"

Pouncival smiled thinly, "Actually I was thinking of diplomacy. Perhaps get a position on the continent, or even in America. Would save me seeing you at every meeting of the Houses."

"Please go through with that plan," Plato told him earnestly and Mistoffelees shot Pounce a half panicked look.

"On the other hand it means I would be the last to know of any scandal you caused which brought your family name to ruin and that would be a tragedy."

Thankfully the food arrived and Mistoffelees shifted a bit closer to Tumble. "You're planning to go into politics too, aren't you?" he asked the other tom. There had been a time when he'd been better at deflecting Pounce and Plato but he just didn't have the energy or the talent anymore.

Tumble nodded, "I'm in the process of finding a position currently."

"That's nice," the black tom managed lamely. At least Plato was eating and thus quiet for the moment. Tumble offered him a sympathetic glance.

"How are you settling back in?" Plato asked Mistoffelees between bites, offering him an almost feral smile. "We've heard from our future diplomat and politicians after all."

"As well as could be expected," Mistoffelees hedged. Tumble glanced from one to the other, but turned his attention to his meal.

Pounce glanced at Misto and then over at Tumble, "Life runs on a pretty even keel for us all then?"

"Something like," Mistoffelees replied. He might have complained to Pounce and Tumble about his uncle making him do his business but not to Plato.

Tumble finished relatively quickly. "I have to be going," he murmured.

"Good day," Mistoffelees said with a broad smile, and turned to attempt to catch Pounce's eye, ready to call the retreat as well.

Pounce nodded very slightly, "Take care, Tumble. I really should be heading out as well. I'm headed in your direction, Misto, what do you say to sharing a cab?"

"Sounds perfect," he said, glancing at Plato and rising before the other could protest.

Pounce offered Plato a smile, "Beware of runaway carriages. Good day, Plato."

"Good day to you as well," he replied, smile thin and sharp. "Misto, take care of yourself."

"Always do," the smaller replied, paying the bill and leaving quickly. Pouncival paid as well, before following Misto.

Once outside, Mistoffelees glanced around, pulling on his gloves and trying to find a cab. "You two are terrible," he murmured.

Pounce sighed, "Sorry. I know I shouldn't..."

"But you do anyway? He makes it hard to resist, but on the other hand I like eating lunch in a semblance of peace."

"I'll try to avoid it in the future. You know I can't seem to carry on a conversation with him that doesn't involve that, and since you and Tumble never seem inclined to contribute..."

Mistoffelees sighed. "We are awed to silence. I'll talk to him and we'll both try, alright? Or we really will hunt down a disreputable pub and see if that helps."

"I'm good with the pub idea. I also vote telling Plato the wrong one."

"You're insufferable," Mistoffelees told him, but smiled anyway.

Pounce had the good sense to look sheepish, "Probably, but at least I have friends who'll put up with me right?"

"Usually," Mistoffelees replied flippantly.

"True. Alright then, usually put up with me."

Mistoffelees finally flagged down a cab, holding the door for Pounce. "Are you really heading the same way or were we just retreating?"

"A little of both. I have someone I'm meeting a bit later, that is in your general direction, but I probably could have stayed longer."

Mistoffelees arched a brow. "Oh, a meeting? That sounds mysterious. Do appease my curiosity."

Pounce grinned, "Not really, just a friend I met a few years ago and haven't had the chance to see since I got back to London."

"You have friends beside us?" Mistoffelees teased, getting in the cab.

That garnered a laugh, "Believe it or not, Misto, I do in fact."

"Well, depths I never knew," Mistoffelees shook his head.

"How are you doing, while we're, well not really on the subject?"

"That is rather off the subject," Mistoffelees informed him. "You may have gone down an entirely different street off the subject. But, since the question has been asked, well, I have been doing as well as can be supposed. My uncle has decided I should be doing his business for him, but at least the subject of marriage has yet to come up."

Pouncival arched an eyebrow at that, "So, not as well as it could be then? What sort of business has he be entrusting to you?"

"He has had me dealing with his lawyer, specifically selling his land to the North. Which of course I appeared to need no preparation for."

"He had you deal with sale of lands without telling you about it? I suppose that could imply a level of confidence in your competence at least?" The brown and white tom's tone seemed caught somewhere between encouraging and uncertainty.

"Well, either he takes great faith in my education, or he's setting me up to fail miserably so he can disown me and ship me off to Australia. I have yet to determine which it is," the smaller tom replied, trying to keep his tone light and failing somewhat.

"Well, if you get shipped off to Australia, what are the chances you think I can just join you there and avoid dealing with my father do you think? And he doesn't really have any other possible heirs does he? Your uncle I mean."

"That I'm aware of? No. But I wouldn't put it past him to have bastard kits somewhere, though I hardly see him leaving them anything. My current bet is that he hopes his daughter to marry someone suitable and leave him everything. And well, I would hardly think Australia the best place, but I suppose I can send out an invitation to you," Mistoffelees said, looking out the cab window as they clattered over the London streets.

"Your uncle leave anything to anyone? That's the part of this I'm still trying to comprehend. He seems to have heirs out of necessity, rather like my father. Then again I may have misinterpreted him in relation to my father and his apparent plan to live forever just to spite those around him," Pounce muttered.

"Good god who art in heaven, may my uncle not live forever to spite those around him," he said, shaking his head. "There are few worse things I could imagine in this world honestly. My only hope is he does what he looks like he should have done years ago and die of some sort of heart failure."

"One can only hope," came the other young nobleman's response. He glanced out of the window as the cab drew to a stop. His brown eyes scoped over the facade of Baron Jones' London townhouse, "Well, it does appear we've arrived. Good luck with your uncle and his business. I shall see you later?"

"At some pub that we do not tell Plato the location of?" Mistoffelees offered, opening up the door. "I'm sure we shall meet again, it's almost impossible to avoid someone in our social circle," he tipped his hat. "Good luck meeting your other mysterious friend."

"At some pub that we do not tell Plato the location of," Pounce agreed, offering his friend a lopsided grin. "Then I shall see you at a later date and I certainly welcome the well wishes for my next meeting. Good day, Misto."

"Good day, and possibly a good evening as well," Mistoffelees replied, slipping from the cab and with another wave closing the door and sending it off. He sighed once, glancing back up at Jones' house before announcing himself to the servant and locking himself back up in the library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victoriousscarf would like to apologize to any Plato fans, but he is not going to be coming off well in this story. Something about him creeps me out way too much and all I can write him as is just that: a total creep.


	3. Are You Any Better Off Then I Am?

Macavity breezed back into the office after the weekend, having rescued his store of pencils from Cor's desk drawer Friday night. Hanging his coat and hat up, he settled behind the desk, looking around the impeccably clean room and considering what exactly he could do to bring disorder and chaos to the space before his partner arrived.

His window of opportunity was extremely brief as Coricopat entered only a couple of minutes behind him. The mottled tom hung his coat and hat up before moving over and checking his desk. His grey eyes narrowed and he looked at his partner, "You broke into my desk again after I left, didn't you?"

"Me?" Macavity asked, face schooled into an expression of innocence. "I would never have to break into your desk, Cor, if you didn't hold my poor pencil's hostage."

"If you didn't throw them at me I would cease to be inclined to lock them away," Cori's response came as he settled behind his desk.

"But where oh where would I find my joy in the working day?" Macavity asked. "Besides, you give me so many openings."

"You throw them at me at all hours, for no reason whatsoever. There is never a legitimate opening for hurling a pencil across the room."

"Would you prefer the fountain pen?" Macavity asked, voice sweet. They both feel silent except for murmured greetings as their boss strolled through their office on the way to his. Bill Bailey hardly paid either of them any attention before closing his door.

Once Bailey's door was closed, Coricopat returned to the conversation that he knew he was going to come out the loser of, "No, I would not prefer the fountain pen. I just see no cause for using me as target practice, is all. There are other things you could do to pass the time."

Macavity arched a brow. "Billiards is boring by yourself and I don't think you'd enjoy me taking up darts."

"You use me as a dartboard daily, so why would you need to do it when not at the office as well. But I did mean during the workday," Cor responded.

"Well, yes, but you were saying I needed to find things to do during my day. And all my other options are boring or would only irritate you more, so I believe you shall have to deal with occasional pencils. Oh, but in other news, my after work hobby of snooping has revealed some interesting things."

Coricopat rose from his desk, moving over to find one of the files he had been working with the previous day, "Oh? It usually does, but dare I ask why you're sharing them with me? Or mentioning them as the case may be?"

"Well, they have to do with your client, so I figured you might like to know," Macavity replied, arching a brow.

"Are you going to share or are you just going to hint at it?" he returned to his desk and located some reading glasses before turning his attention to the file.

"Hinting is ever so much more entertaining, but if you insist I suppose I can share with the class. Your little forging nephew is a rather interesting case all told. His father wasn't of noble blood at all."

Cori looked up in surprise at that, "He wasn't? Well, I suppose it does explain the surname, but he wasn't?"

"No, apparently he was of the merchant classes. So little Quaxo's mother ran away with him. However, as far as anyone can tell when he died she brought her little son back with her into the care of our dear old friend, the Baron Jones. Probably driven back in some way or another. Quaxo was all but instantly shipped off to boarding school, and said mother is nearly as bad as our beloved Queen, since she still wears mourning clothes. She's also never married again."

"If the only mark against her in society is her penchant for prolonged mourning I suppose it could be worse. Do you know anything more about his father?"

"Well, I would saying marrying a merchant is a mark against her, but since then she's remained pretty much out of the public eye entirely except at Jones' events. As for the father, as I said, they ran away and she came back. What happened to him in the in between I don't think anyone has yet discovered. From what I can gather he was a rather likable type, a little too warm hearted, and well known for his generosity. A solid type fit for any community. The just about opposite of anything I've ever heard about our Baron," Macavity replied, leaning back in his chair and twirling a pencil between his paws.

"Hm, interesting. I can't suppose her family much cared for him at all. It makes sense I suppose, but still more's the pity. That is quite the dearth of information you located, though, Mac. I will grant you that. Did you have to speak with several cats or did Hunt know all of this?"

"Hunt and a visit to the library archives," Macavity replied. "Though, Hunt certainly knows more than his fair share. As I said, he's not terribly fond of Jones and I think enjoys gathering dirt on him in his spare time. However, if he never finds anything particularly damning that would ruin Jones forever, he'll never be allowed to publish anything. But back to the subject of the nephew... I was thinking. He still has his father's name, right? How thrilled do you think Jones is with that? Either he is very stubborn, is loyal to a fault, or just likes annoying his uncle as much as Hunt probably would like to. Or all three. Either way, he paints an interesting picture."

"He does indeed. Well, it's been an interesting and enlightening conversation. I suppose we probably shouldn't gossip quite as much as we do about the clients, after all they do pay us for discretion as much as for the work we actually do," Cori mused. "Ah well, it does make the hours go by at a faster rate."

"You may harp about propriety as much as you like, but you know as well as I do you're just as interested," Macavity teased. "Besides, think of the memoirs we could write someday."

"Once all the people we have gossiped about are dead, so will we be, Mac. Memoirs about things like this are a great way to end up on the wrong end of a lawsuit should one of the noble families dislike what is written about them, and should it give them a threat of scandal. You know that as well as I do."

Macavity laughed. "That's why we do it from the safety of another country, Cor."

His partner shook his head, "And when do you think we'd actually leave for another country, Mac? We both have lives here."

The ginger tabby rolled his eyes. "When you put it that way... Ah well. Someday I will write and make thousands of pounds for my trouble. Between now and then, I work slavishly at a desk."

"You're not working for a shop or for a bank. I would hardly call this slavish."

"You're right, we have the time to gossip like old church women. We must be doing well for ourselves," Macavity replied, darting a glance at Bailey's door before back to Coricopat.

"Say that a little louder, I don't think he heard you," Cori commented drily. "We do have work we should be doing."

"Work, work, work," Macavity remarked. "See, this very attitude is why you have no life."

"I have a life. It just happens to include quite a lot of work. I am perfectly content in that, and shall continue to remain so. I want nothing to do with anything outside of it, thank you very much."

"Your tombstone will have the most boring epitaph known throughout the country side," Macavity drawled. "You are completely lacking in any sense of adventure or excitement or passion aren't you? Drier than a book written by the Greeks even." He was feeling extra poetical.

"I have no desire for adventure or excitement and passion is an illusion in our day and age. And there are worse things to compare me to than something written by the Greeks," Cori shrugged, his attention returning almost fully to the work in front of him.

Macavity just rolled his eyes, finally bending his own head over his work. "Just wait," he drawled as a parting shot. "One of these days you're going to find something to be really passionate about, and having no practice with the feeling what so ever, you're going to have no idea what to do."

"And what of you? You spend your days working with other peoples' wealth and marriages and deaths and at night you orchestrate the taking of goods, but really Mac, are you any better off than I am?"

Something twisted in Macavity's face for a moment. "Come now, Cor, you should remember the answer to that," he murmured softly. "How can you say passion is an illusion in our age to me? It may burn itself to pieces, but it's there. Most people prefer not to see it though, like you refuse to. Besides, you also know as well as I do there will be no orchestrating of taking of goods tonight. Tonight is almost a scared night in my family after all. It's the one night of the year we sit in the same room and don't try to kill each other."

Cori pinched the bridge of his nose, "Mac, I'm sorry, you know I didn't mean that... at least not in regards to you." He latched onto a possible change of subject, "Surely the three of you don't try to kill one another on Christmas, at least."

"You were there, three Christmas ago," Macavity replied, accepting the change in topic. "I believe 'Straps offered you champagne and chestnuts as the drawing room went to hell."

"Oh, that's right he did. We considered betting on which of you would come out more intact, but decided it would be a futile bet."

"We both came out intact," Macavity replied. "So it would have been difficult to gauge who would have won. We barely scraped one another, though I suppose we got the points for trying."

"You both were trying rather hard," Cori agreed. "I still don't see why you two had such a set-to, but I do suppose it's not really my business."

"Well, the vase certainly suffered more damage than either of us," Macavity mused, thinking of the memory. "At any rate, I believe we shall try to avoid such a repeat tonight. We've even managed to spend the last two Christmas without any such incidents."

"That is good at least. Well, wish your brothers well for me, hm?"

"I suppose I can be pressed upon to do such a thing," Macavity said, nodding once.

v.v.v.v

Victoria Jones, only child of the Baron, quietly entered the library, making her way over to one of the shelves of books, her skirts whispering across the floor. She didn't spend much time there, but once in a while could be found among the shelves. The white queen skimmed the books for the particular volume she was seeking.

Mistoffelees blinked in surprise from where he was sitting, legs curled up in a somewhat un-gentleman like manner. He was not much used to others being in the library, especially not his cousin. They barely knew each other, having met only in formal situations since he first went to school, and they had not grown up together. He closed the book he was reading, considered the title and slid it under the cushion of the chair before sitting up straight as well. How exactly was one supposed to greet another in a private room of the house?

His cousin startled at the sound of the book closing, nearly dropping the book she had just taken from the shelf. She turned, her blue eyes wide, before she dropped her gaze, "I beg your pardon, I did not mean to intrude."

Well, that worked well enough he supposed. "It's alright, I'm sure," he murmured. "I could hardly keep you from entering, well, the majority of the rooms of the house, especially a public one. You've lived here much longer than I have after all."

"That hardly excuses my appearance here, or my not acknowledging you when I entered, cousin." She darted a glance toward the door, "I can leave if you wish?"

"You were focused on your book," he replied with a faint, if a little unsure, smile. "That's admirable, if nothing else. You may stay or go as you please," he added. "Perhaps company would do me good but I would hardly wish to infringe upon your time."

"I have no engagements elsewhere, I only intended to pick up the book." Victoria's gaze moved to a chair, "If you're certain you don't mind, I might stay."

"You're certainly welcome to, if you'd like," he said, following her gaze and waving slightly to the chair. "I still feel I could hardly demand you leave a room in your own house, even if you're appearance is slightly unexpected. Not, horribly so," he amended quickly. "I'm just suppose I never thought you you in this room before. Do you often read?"

She settled in the chair, smoothing her skirt down, "When I'm not working with my music or embroidery. There's only a limited number of things I can do that are permissible, after all." The petite queen glanced at her cousin, "And in many's eyes it's more your house than mine."

He inclined his head, having not actually thought much about what took up a queen's time before. It was rare to really encounter one privately after all at all male schools. He did almost flinch back at the comment about the house however, shrugging. "You've lived here longer. It would be terribly rude of me to attempt to dictate your actions, especially concerning something as bettering as reading."

She inclined her head in acknowledgment of his comment. She had grown up there, it was true, but it was not then, nor would it ever be her house, "It is nice to know that you consider reading a pursuit to be encouraged, or at the very least not one to be  _dis_ couraged."

"Well," he said with another faint smile. "I find it particularly enjoyable, not to mention at least on some occasions educational, or at least thematic. I do, after all, seem to spend most of my time in the library. It would seem hypocritical to try and deny that same pleasure to anyone else."

"What do you like to read, if it is not too much of an intrusion for me to ask?"

His ears flickered slightly, a sign of some sort of embarrassment. "Various things," he hedged. "I am particularly fond of descriptions of antiques and history, and there are several books on ruins and other such sites I enjoy going back to." And the Thomas Hardy novel currently hidden under the cushion, but he was not entirely sure how his well bred and very proper looking cousin would react to a book and author that only seemed to cause scandal.

Victoria offered a faint smile at that, "That does sound interesting. Aunt Sera mentioned you'd spent time on the continent? What was that like?"

The black tom blinked once at the mention of his mother and smoothed right over it. "Fantastic," he replied to her question about the continent. "There really was not enough time to see as much of it as I would have preferred, though my tendency was to go to all the places no one else really had much interest in so I would love to go back sometime. It's quite worth the trip however, and if you ever get the chance to go, you really should take it."

"Unfortunately, such opportunities rarely arise. Especially to travel outside of any metropolitan area," she smoothed a hand over her skirt, implying the unstated mention of her sex. That was disregarding her father's tendency to keep a tight rein on the women of his household after her aunt's marriage to Mistoffelees' father.

Mistoffelees nodded, having actually mostly expected that answer. "Perhaps someday they shall, or you'll find someone who enjoys traveling as much as you do that would be willing to take you," he said, not quite implying himself but rather voicing a hope for any future husband.

The corner of Victoria's lip quirked into an almost bitter smile, "Yes, one can hope."

Biting the inside of his lip, he nodded, having more than caught the expression. "Hope, despite its reputation as being foolhardy, can sometimes be the only course of action," he murmured. "And sometimes it even works out as it should."

"It can  _often_  be the only course of action, cousin, but rarely works out as it should," Victoria corrected quietly.

His brow quirked slightly at that, black tail twitching itself around for a second. "Perhaps," he agreed. "But do you blame those who hope anyway?"

"I can hardly blame them since I am one of them. Just because it rarely works as we wish, and the Fates are unkind does not mean it always ends that way."

"The Fates seem rather jealous of human dreams," Mistoffelees murmured. "Besides, there is a law of probability to the universe as well, to some extent. Eventually something has to work out for the better."

"Even a small thing," his cousin agreed softly.

"Small things are better than none," he said. "And something that seems small may in fact be far from it. Or so the philosophers are fond of telling us at any rate. But, they're fond of telling us many things."

"I must admit to not having much experience with the philosophers."

"Probably for the best," he replied. "Despite their lofty ideals, they rarely make anyone happier to have read them."

"Perhaps so." She glanced around the room again, her gaze sweeping over the carefully arranged books, "You mentioned you spend a lot of time here?"

He nodded. "It's perhaps the one room in the house I feel at all comfortable," he admitted softly.

"I can see how that might be, I suppose."

He shrugged. "Well, it's one of the few rooms that my uncle seems to have never set foot in, or at least his aesthetic sense has never been let loose on the room. Every other room seems thoroughly lived in by someone else, where as this library seems rather impersonal, as if it was a room added because it felt like it needed to be had for appearances sake but no one really cared for it. I suppose it just makes me feel like it's a room I can then make to suit myself, whereas the other rooms suit others." It was perhaps too clear from that statement that was he disproving of his uncle's taste, though trying his hardest not to come right out and say that.

She smiled faintly, recognizing but not acknowledging the implication regarding his feelings about her father's taste in ornate decoration, "A fair assessment. I don't believe I've seen my father near this room in years. You could probably do just about anything to the arrangement in here and no one but perhaps a couple of the servants would be the wiser."

The short tom smiled faintly at that. "That is good to know. The shelves have been meeting a different variety of books of late than I believe they are used to, but otherwise I have not been making too many changes. A few more comfortable chairs might not go amiss though," he mused, glancing around. "The ones here aren't particularly ones for sitting in for any length of time."

She nodded her agreement, "Well, I'm certain it would be possible to attain some new chairs, especially considering that it is important for a certain level of comfort to be present while reading."

That got another smile out of him, a bit less faint then the first but not quite comfortable with being on his face yet. "Yes, rather," he said with a small nod. "So long as you think no one would mind?" He was actually asking her, since she seemed to be the only other one to set paw in the room. "Or, rather, do you have any ideas which chairs might fit best?"

"The only concern might be expense, but I can't see anyone minding. As to the sort of chairs which would fit best, the style is of course up to you, but considering the carpets and the general air of the room I would say something in a dark green or blue for the upholstery."

"It's not like I have many other expensive hobbies to support," he said with a faint smile. "My allowance is wallowing in the bank somewhere, begging for something to do." He considered the colors suggested and nodded, adding mentally that a dark wood would perhaps work well with that.

She smiled a bit at that, "Then I really do see nothing standing in your way. Besides the color scheme, the rest should be chosen based on preference and comfort, really."

He nodded again. "Thank you kindly for the advice then," he said, offering her what had come to closest to a real smile. "And you are, of course, more than welcome to come in when you like, so long as there is not some sort of business going on."

"Thank you for the invitation. I shall try not to intrude too often, and certainly not when you are conducting business." She glanced toward the door again, "Shall I leave you in peace then?"

The small tom shrugged. "You may do as you like. I don't mind the company if you're reading, but as I said earlier you're as welcome to leave if you have any thing else or would like to." Of course if she stayed that would mean finding another book or at least admitting he was reading something borderline scandalous. He no longer thought she would react like his uncle but he was still unsure how she would.

A faint, but grateful smile played around her lips, "I think I might stay then. As I said I have nothing to do this afternoon." She settled back just a bit more in the chair she was perched on and opened the book in her paws, her gaze moving to him again.

For another moment he paused for shrugging more to himself than her and pulling the Thomas Hardy book back out from where it had spent the conversation under one of the pillow cushions.

Victoria's brow rose sharply at the sight of the novel, but she kept her mouth shut and dropped her gaze to her own book. His tail twitched slightly but he turned his own gaze to the last page he was on. They spent some time as such, reading quietly together.


	4. Tried and True, Cor, Tried and True

Macavity approached the door of his brother's flat, rapping the back of his paw on the door, and considering the bottle of scotch he held in his other paw. The door opened moments later, Munkustrap glancing from his older brother to the bottle and back before stepping aside and motioning for him to enter, "Good to see you, Mac."

"'Straps, always a pleasure," Macavity replied, stepping inside and setting the bottle down on the table before heading to the kitchen to find glasses.

"Can I take your coat or get you anything?" The silver tabby closed the door and then followed his brother into the kitchen.

"It's a bit of a chilly night," Mac replied. "Just some glasses I'm thinking. They are where they were last year?"

"I haven't rearranged anything in the kitchen since then, so yes. And chilly or not, you look as though you're prepared to retreat if you keep your coat. I was just going to add another log to the fire."

That got a laugh out of Macavity and he shook his head before handing Munkustrap the coat. "In that case," he said with another shake of his head before getting three glasses down from the cupboard. "I'm sure another log would not go amiss. I'm assuming our beloved littlest brother is running late?"

Munkus took the coat, checking his watch and then nodded, "Based on his general tardiness he should be here within the next five minutes or so. Perhaps ten." He slipped out of the kitchen and went to hang Mac's coat up before going and adding another log to the fire, sidestepping around the table and chairs in front of the hearth.

While he was doing that Macavity sat himself at the table, looking the bottle over, not quite opening it yet and glancing around the flat. Neither 'Straps nor his flatmate were the types that enjoyed change but it was good to check anyway.

Almost five minutes later to the dot, there was another knock on the door, as loud and brash as the tom behind it. Munkus looked up from where he'd been making certain the log caught before rising and weaving between the chairs and making his way over to answer the door. He offered his younger brother a cordial smile and stepped aside to let him in, "Good evening, Tugger. You're late."

The tallest but youngest of the three brothers nodded as he stepped inside, glancing once at Macavity and back to his middle brother. "Hullo, Munkus. Not later than usual, I'm sure. I was held up at the office."

"The office?" Macavity chirped in. "That's a rather grandiose title for that dump that calls itself a publishing house?"

Munkustrap glanced between his brothers, giving the older one a "please don't start that yet, he's hardly in the door" look before turning to the youngest, "Can I take your coat while you make yourself comfortable?"

Tugger shrugged, before handing him the coat. "Sure, if you like. You sure you didn't miss your calling as a maid?" Macavity opened his mouth, recalled 'Straps' look and shut it slowly.

The middle brother hung up the overcoat, his smile thinning, "And you missed yours as a charwoman, considering the filth you work with on a daily basis."

That got a grin out of Macavity, as well as a raised eyebrow at 'Straps, as if to question, "and you said not to start anything?"

Tugger meanwhile had narrowed his eyes, pulling a chair out and turning it to straddle it, folding his arms over the back. "Oh har, har. When did you grow a sense of humor? No, really, I want to know how much it cost you."

"Far more than yours, as evidenced by the quality of the tripe that you spew. I don't think you could afford a good one," came the reply as Munkus settled in the third chair and opted not to respond to Mac's look or Tugger's method of treating his chair.

Macavity shook his head, settling in deeper to the chair and opening the bottle of scotch, working on pouring three equal glasses. Their younger brother glared at both of them. "At least I'm doing something noble with my time, unlike you two."

"Being a lawyer is an entirely noble profession," Macavity protested with a full toothed smile. "Besides, I'm not sure why living above a press and constantly being stained with ink is in any way shape or form a noble pursuit."

"I'm doing something meaningful," Tugger said, chin jutting out.

"You're a rabble rouser," Munkus responded. "Do you know the sort of people that 'noble press' of yours is read by?"

"The people of the city," Tugger replied. "The ones that really matter."

"You mean the ones that I end up arresting by the end of the week for drunkenness, or the ones that I bring in for attempted murder?"

Macavity held up a paw. "Alright, you two, before we go any deeper into an argument about whether socialism is a meaningful political system and whether or not it leads to crime, or whether or not newspapers in general are worthwhile, I propose a toast. Mostly so I can then drink the rest of this bottle with impunity."

Munkustrap drew a deep breath, consciously calming himself down before nodding, "Agreed. It is why we're here after all."

Macavity doled out the other two glasses to his brothers before raising his own glass. "To the old bastard, on the anniversary of his death. He left us a name to work with."

The middle brother raised his glass, nodding, "For what little it's worth. He left us his name and a legacy. To him."

Hesitating Tugger raised his own glass finally as well. "The world may never see his like again," he drawled, meaning it in the best way possible. They all paused to take a sip of scotch.

"Saints be praised for that," Munkus murmured, setting his glass aside. He glanced at his elder brother, "How is life as a solicitor treating you?"

"As well as could be expected," Macavity replied, taking another swallow of the drink. "The work pays well and only lasts so long as the work day, which I consider quite the bonus. It's rare for a client to follow you home, though the paperwork sometimes does." Tugger's ear flickered back slightly, and he downed the entire glass he held in his paw.

Munkustrap nodded slightly, "Good to hear." He hesitated for a long moment before asking grudgingly, "And you, Tugger? How goes the publishing?"

"Noblely," he replied primly. Macavity rolled his eyes and poured himself another drink.

"Right. Of course it does," the silver brother's skepticism was palpable, but he kept himself from saying more.

Narrowing his eyes again, Tugger drained another glass and Macavity looked a little mournful at how his good scotch was being treated. "You savor it," he told his brother. "Savor. You don't gulp it like badly brewed beer."

Tugger ignored him for the moment, reaching over for the bottle to pour himself another glass. "I'm not sure why you two seem to think it such a bad ideal," he said, a bit bitterly. "Looking at the world, you really find it to be functional? When has capitalism ever worked?"

"Isn't it working?" Macavity asked, looking over at Munkustrap. "I'm sorry, our entire system is broken. Whatever shall we do? Who will inform Queen Victoria?"

Munkus hid his smile behind his glass as he took another sip, "Well, my suggestion is for Tugger to waltz up to the palace and see how far he gets. On the other hand, I'd rather not have it bandied about the 'Yard that my younger brother was arrested for trying to break in. I see little trouble with the capitalistic society we live in. Certainly, there are flaws, but there are to all ideals. Including yours, Tugger."

"We've tried this system for years," Tugger said. "Isn't it time to give another system a try? There's not need to talk to the Queen about it, but rather the people."

"Yes, any government made by the drunkards on the street  _must_  be valid!" Macavity declared. "Move to France, Tugger."

"Because we saw how well that went across the channel," their middle brother agreed. "Anarchy comes long before your socialistic paradise, and during that time people die brutally in the streets."

Tugger opened his mouth to protest not it everyone was aboard with the idea first, but snapped it shut again, hunching his shoulders. "Any progress comes with a price," he muttered, though it didn't sound like his soul was entirely behind it.

"A price?" Munkustrap's blue eyes narrowed, "You call that much possible bloodshed a  _price_? Worth paying?"

"There are thousands suffering in dire poverty today," Tugger exclaimed. "Would you not want to do at least something for them?"

"Isn't that what the workhouses are for?" Macavity drawled and his brother looked about ready to murder him in front of their police brother.

"Only if you're a heartless bastard," he replied. "But you've just about been that from the cradle, haven't you Mac?"

"Oh for the love of all that is Holy!" The third brother cut in, "Yes, there are people suffering in poverty, yes it often leads to crime.  _How_  in God's name would that change?"

"The entire point of socialism is to get rid of poverty!" Tugger protested.

"So was the French Revolution," Macavity said again, pouring himself another glass. "Look how well that worked."

"The American Revolution worked," Tugger muttered.

"Yes," Macavity agreed. "But remember the bit where they are like the worshipers of capitalism?" Tugger made a face at him. "Oh that's mature."

"I'll grant you that in theory socialism could be a noble enterprise. But that's in theory. The fatal flaw is the assumption that there are people honest enough for it to work. Do you honestly believe that there are?" Munkus shook his head, "And the Americans very nearly tore themselves apart a couple of decades ago, anyhow."

Tugger crossed his arms over his chest and subsided into sulky silence. "There aren't people honest enough," Macavity informed him anyway. "I'm a lawyer, remember? I know these things."

"And I'm a policeman," the middle brother added. "Believe me, Tugger, there might be one or two people honest enough for your idealized society, but the vast majority of them would stab one another in the back rather than work together to improve things. And I'm talking about at all levels of society, not just the wealthy."

Tugger just about growled at that. "Fine, believe what you will," he said with a shrug. "But stop thinking you know better than me."

"But we do," Macavity made sure to add before holding his paws up. "Alright, alright, shutting up."

"You've got to come down off your high-horse at some point, Tugger, but I'm done for the night," Munkus conceded.

Tugger shook his head and swallowed down another glass of scotch, Macavity giving him a tragic look. "Alright, if we're done for the night then?" he said, standing. "I'm sure I have more work I could be doing."

Munkustrap sighed, "Very well. Have a good night, Tugger."

He nodded to the pair of his brothers before going to fetch his coat, murmuring a goodnight before closing the door behind him. Macavity looked over the empty scotch bottle a bit mournfully. The flat owner glanced at the bottle, "You should know by now better than to bring a good bottle of scotch. At least it was only one bottle this year."

"I figured limiting the bottles was a good plan," Macavity said and finally shrugged. "Besides, good scotch at least has the appearance of showing respect, whether we actually feel it or not."

"I suppose that's true, but we do know that it'll all be gone within an hour, two at most," he shook his head. "Ah, well. At least we're done til next year."

"There's still Christmas between now and then," Macavity reminded him with a grin.

"But on Christmas we don't have the stipulation that we're not going to kill one another, remember?"

"Point," Macavity conceded, rising and placing the glasses back in the kitchen. "Now that our beloved black sheep is gone, how are things, truly, with you?"

He shrugged, "They really haven't changed all that much. Still dealing with the joys of policework. I have a new partner as of three months ago, so I suppose not all that new. Not currently working on anything of any real note. What of you? How are things?"

"The same as they've ever been," he said, raising one of the empty glasses in a mock salute. "Work and work and all the same in my personal life."

"So continuing to be dull, hm? Nothing of note then?" The silver tabby picked up the fire poker and stirred the coals, getting more heat for a moment.

"Nothing but gossip," Macavity replied. "Which is a habit that my partner is trying very hard to clear me of. But our clients have such interesting lives and issues, I'm not sure how I'm supposed to give it up."

That garnered a laugh, "Gossip can be useful at times, I will grant it that. Who have you been gossiping about now?"

"The Baron Jones, and his nephew newly returned from school," Macavity replied, voice pitched a bit lower as if declaring something grand.

His younger brother's brows rose as he picked up another log for the fire, "Careful what you say about that family. The Baron is known for not taking kindly to much gossip around them."

"Oh, I know," Macavity replied. "I'm hardly spreading this around town, though it's obvious enough for anyone to find if they looked. Like the fact said nephew's father was a Scottish merchant who's been dead over twenty years, but the kit still had his name though he's Jones' designated heir."

"That is quite the news," Munkus whistled lowly, "I can't see the Baron being especially pleased with any of that. Especially the merchant bit."

"He's probably not," Macavity nodded. "Years ago, when this all went down, he pretty much disowned that entire line of the family, but his sister came back with the kit and no husband, and he's named said kit his heir, though probably due to a lack of any other choices. It's an interesting situation, and I should probably stay as far away from as possible." He was grinning by the end of the sentence however.

His brother shook his head, a grin playing about his features, "Which of course means you'll do nothing of the kind. Just be careful, hm?"

"Always am. I've lived to quite the ripe old age already," he said with another grin. "At least, compared to the predictions of my school teachers. I'm down right ancient."

"Considering your antics during your school years it's little wonder that they predicted your death by age twenty."

"Seventeen," Macavity replied. "It was hanged by seventeen, or run over by twenty. Among many other such predictions."

"Right, that was it. Though, not that I'm asking to hear about it, hanged still may be in the cards for you if the number of thefts from clients of yours is true," his blue gaze moved to his older brother.

"I really have no idea what you're talking about," Macavity replied, shrugging.

"Good. Do keep it that way."

"I try my hardest," Macavity said, finally turning away from the sink.

v.v.v.v

Coricopat stepped out of the cab he'd gotten from Bailey and Co Solicitors, making his way up the steps to the door of Baron Jones' townhouse. He paused for a moment to gather himself together before knocking. The door opened moments later and a butler showed him in, telling him to wait while the servant checked to see if His Lordship would see him today. He carried the final sale papers with him so as to deliver a copy to the Baron and let him know that it had gone smoothly.

Moments later the butler returned, showing Coricopat up to Jones' office where he did all his own formal work. Mistoffelees was standing inside the door, leaning a bit hard against the wall as his uncle had been in the midst of lecturing him on business techniques. He perked slightly when he saw someone enter, but was unsure on realizing it was the lawyer.

Jones looked up over his small spectacles as the lawyer entered. "Ah, Mr. Zimmerman. What can I do for you today?" His tone fully expressed what he really was asking was, 'what can you do for me today?'

Coricopat offered the Baron a bow at that, "My lord, I just came to deliver the final copy of the sale papers for your northern properties. The sale went smoothly, and the buyer paid full price for the lands. I do hope that it is to your satisfaction." His grey gaze strayed momentarily to where the Baron's heir stood near the door.

Baron Bustopher Jones arched a brow at that, gaze going to his nephew as well before back to the mottled tom. "Oh? That is excellent to hear, especially since I did not recall signing those final papers."

The solicitor returned his full attention to the cat behind the desk, withdrawing the papers, "I assure you, milord, that I have the papers here, with your signature affixed to them."

Accepting the papers, Jones glanced them over, and nodded. "Yes, it appears all is in order here. I must have let it slip my mind with the bustle of recent times." By the door Mistoffelees bit the inside of his lip hard.

"Is there anything else you wish me to see to, milord?" Coricopat inclined his head enough to show continued deference.

"I believe for the time being, that is all," Jones declared. "If I need the services of your office again, which I am sure I soon shall, I will let you know." He waved one hand in a clear dismissal.

Cori offered the baron another bow, "Very good, milord. Good day to you." With that he slipped out of the study, pausing for a moment in the hall to see if the nephew would be exiting or if he would be required to remain within.

Inside said room, Jones glanced up, as if surprised to still see the black tom in the room. "You may leave as well," he said, voice changing to a slightly harsher tone. "I have no more need of you."

Still biting the inside of his lip, Mistoffelees inclined his head and left the room, gently closing the door behind him. His brow rose slightly when he noticed the mottled tom still in the hallway, and he made sure the door was fully closed.

Coricopat's brow quirked slightly in response and he inclined his head to the smaller cat, "Well done with the business, Mr. Quaxo, if I might say so."

"Would you like to come to the library?" he asked, motioning down the hallway, figuring he would prefer this conversation, or what might turn into a conversation, as far away from servant's ears as possible.

"As you wish, sir," the lawyer offered him a slight bow, indicating for him to precede him if he so wished.

"Please don't call me that," Mistoffelees murmured, heading down the hallway and up the flight of stairs, holding the door of the library open.

"What should I call you then? I fear any term of address I can think of might be a little too informal for someone of your standing," Cori slipped into the library ahead of the other cat.

"Mr. Quaxo would do fine," he managed after a moments thought. 'Sir' was too formal for him to stomach at that age. "After all, I'm not a teacher or an old banker." He closed the door behind him, and really would have preferred to stand leaning against it, but sat in one of the chairs instead, motioning for the other to do the same if he liked.

"As you will, Mr. Quaxo," the mottled tom settled into the chair opposite. "As I was saying, you handled the business very well. I admit I hadn't expected it to go nearly so smoothly."

"I like to believe I try my hardest at everything I'm asked to do," he replied, voice a bit soft and a good deal wary.

"I admit that I have never seen a signature that well written short of an actual copyist's hand."

That time when he bit his lip it was much more obvious. "Well, then I can pride myself on doing very well, can I not?"

"You very much can. My partner and myself couldn't hardly tell the difference, and your uncle certainly couldn't."

"Are you trying to make a point with this?" Mistoffelees asked, voice a bit harder than it had been. "Because I had been asked to deal with the business, and I dealt with it rather than go back to him saying I could not do it."

"No, I was simply making an observation. And, well, asking you not to do it again if possible. I have now lied to my employer, and my client, and the business associate of said client about whose signature is actually affixed to those documents. I would much prefer not to end up with my head in a noose for that, if you don't mind," Coricopat frowned as he finished.

For several long minutes Mistoffelees just blinked slowly, before glancing away. "I shall keep that all in mind," he managed finally.

The mottled tom drew a calming breath, "I apologize. I didn't intend to actually say all of that..."

That drew out another long blink on the smaller tom's part. "But you did. At quite a decent length no less. However, you are correct, and I had not thought the action as through as I might have, and I suppose for that I should apologize as well," he said, voice very formal and as cold as he could make it. After all, he thought it better to have dealt with the business than express to Jones he'd given his heir an impossible task. Which meant he hadn't been thinking of anyone else who could have been affected.

Coricopat's ears lay back slightly, "I...I do understand why you did it, I just honestly wanted to ask you to avoid it in the future. Truly that's all I meant to say."

"But it's not all you said," Mistoffelees replied, brow going up a bit more. "Does that happen to you often?"

"Not around cats who aren't my partner."

Mistoffelees' expression just got more and more confused. He really had no idea what to make of this, and from the mottled tom's expression, which was verging on horror, he didn't either. "Well, I shall certainly keep what you said in mind, especially if we have to work together again in any capacity."

Cori managed a flickering smile, "Thank you. I...should probably be on my way back to the office..."

"Yes, of course," Mistoffelees murmured. "I would hardly wish to keep you from your work. Good day."

The solicitor rose and started toward the door, pausing at the sight of a chess game in progress, "Do you play?" What in heaven's name? Usually he had a control over his tongue and didn't ask anything of the clients he worked with. Especially not if they happened to live on St. James Street.

Tilting his head slightly in confusion, Mistoffelees turned the motion into a nod. "Yes. Currently against myself. Do you?"

"I...oh, yes. I do. It's quite the game you have going here so far." Stop. That's what he needed to do. He needed to stop, go down the stairs, hail a cab and return to the—oh hell Macavity was at the office.

Mistoffelees truly had no idea what to do with the lawyer at the moment. "Thank you, I believe? Except it looks like black is about to win, and I dislike knowing how a game is going to turn out."

"Really? I see mate in three with a victory for white," Coricopat's grey eyes widened as he realized that he'd just contradicted the heir to the Jones estate. He needed to leave. Now.

That got another blink, before Mistoffelees leaned forward to peer at the board better. "Really?" he asked, actually showing the most interest since seeing the lawyer at being contradicted.

"I, well, that is, I believe so?" He glanced toward the door, "I-I really must be going, Mr. Quaxo. I do beg your pardon."

"Yes, of course," he replied, one ear flickering slightly. "I would hardly wish to detain you." It looked more like he would rather do exactly that and discuss chess moves. "Good day to you then, Mr. Zimmerman."

The solicitor dipped another bow before slipping out and returning to the office of Bailey and Co. He hung up his coat and hat and quickly settled at his desk, burying his head in his paws, his ears flat against his skull, "Which case am I working on now?"

Macavity blinked at him, and blinked again, case file held up in front of him where he had been in the process of putting it away when his partner entered. "I, Cor? What the hell happened to you?"

"Language," he replied automatically. "Which case, Mac?"

"Hell if I know," the ginger tabby replied, deeply unhelpful.

"Devil take it, Macavity! You're working on Smith, I just finished with Jones, damn it if I'm working with someone called Johnson I think I might go mad."

"Barton, I think it was," Macavity replied, eyebrows making a break for the top of his head. "No, really, the hell happened?"

"Nothing." He got to his feet, brushing past his partner to locate the file and return to his desk.

"I believe that like I believe socialism is a workable system, Cor. You're not walking out of here on your own two paws without telling me first."

"So how did that evening with your brothers go?" The mottled tom queried as he settled at his desk and opened the file.

"You ain't changing the subject and getting away with it," Macavity told him. "Though it went as fine as ever, thanks for asking. Now what happened at Jones? I might wither away from anticipation."

"One can only hope."

"Cor..." the ginger tabby said, voice getting dangerously low.

"Nothing damaging to the firm, I don't think, and the papers were delivered. My meeting with Lord Jones went without a hitch."

"So was it the daughter, the sister, or the nephew that got you in a twist?"

"I never see the women of the family, are you out of your mind? I had a brief conversation with his nephew is all. I'm fine. Nothing happened."

"You're verging on a panic attack," Macavity replied. "I'm sorry, I mean one of your 'Im-not-panicking' attacks that look like panic to anyone else."

"I  _don't_  panic," came the reply that sounded rote even to Cori's ears. "Fine. I might have asked him not to forge his uncle's signature again."

Macavity blinked once, long and slow. "You did what?"

"Well, that was my intent anyhow... What I ended up doing was listing the cats I've lied to in the past week and mentioned the fact that doing it again, should it be discovered might well get me the noose. In all honesty it was less than half the thoughts that have been going through my head for the last week." He swallowed, "And I may have contradicted him on a chess game he had in progress, but in all honesty that was probably the less pressing matter."

"Less than half?" Macavity gaped. "I'm limiting you to a sixth, no, an eighth of your thoughts around clients. And  _then_  you brought up his chess game? You sure that whole incident isn't getting you the noose?"

Cori paled, "Mac, you do realize that about two thirds of the thoughts that I didn't include involved the tensile strength of the average hanging rope and the pros and cons of unoiled hinges on trapdoors, right?"

His partner just gave him a long look. "Right, new plan. You avoid the nephew, and we'll do fine from there, alright?"

"I-I'm good with that plan. As long as His Lordship doesn't require me to work with him again, that will go perfectly smoothly. But of course, I never have warning as to whether I'm going to be encountering him or not, so perhaps it won't work quite so...Oh to hell with it, I have work I have to do."

"Alright, you do that work," the ginger tabby agreed. "But you see said nephew, here's what you do. 'Yes, Sir, of course, Sir, will that be all, Sir?' You limit yourself to tried and true phrases."

"I can't. I've been instructed not to call him 'sir'."

That got another long blink. "The gist remains the same. Tried and true, Cor, tried and true."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VS would also apologize to any Bustopher Jones fans. He rarely comes out looking good either.


	5. Dreamers Can't Survive

Since the honorable Baron Bustopher Jones had been invited out to a dinner party at a Gentleman's club, and since Mistoffelees had begged off the event claiming all sorts of ailments, he and Victoria were sitting several nights later in the drawing room. Since their first conversation in the library, they had been talking more often, and in this instance he had offered to teach her at least the basics of playing chess, an occupation they were currently engaged in.

The door to the drawing room opened and Mistoffelees' mother, Serafine Quaxo, entered, her dark blue satin and black velvet gown sweeping the floor behind her. She paused at the sight of both her son and niece seated in the drawing room, having rarely seen Mistoffelees since his return from his tour of the continent. Sera settled herself quietly in a chair nearby, drawing an embroidery stand with a half-finished tapestry attached to it nearer and turned half of her attention to her work there.

The quiet but enjoyable conversation between Mistoffelees and his cousin stilled at the entrance of the older queen. Mistoffelees was never quite sure what to make of his mother, and perhaps more than a little hypocritically could not quite forgive her for coming back to his uncle when he was just a kit. "Mother," he greeted, voice more chilled than it had been to Victoria. "Good evening."

Serafine looked up, meeting her son's gaze, "And good evening to you as well, Mistoffelees. I hope it finds you well?"

Victoria glanced from her aunt to her cousin, her black-tipped ears flickering slightly at the change in atmosphere at Serafine's entrance.

"As well as can be expected considering I was not feeling well enough to join my uncle this evening," he replied, hedging the answer as much as he could. "How does the evening find yourself?"

Serafine's lips twitched into a private smile, "It finds me quite well. I am glad to find you feeling improved over earlier this evening, I know that the dinner parties can often only aggravate ailments."

"Perhaps it is the thought of being out among possibly disagreeable company that makes one feel worse at the very thought," Mistoffelees said after a moment's hesitation and slight frown. "Once that threat is removed, one may relax again."

"I find that, unfortunately, that is often an accurate assessment. And goodness knows the amount of brandy consumed at such a meal is hardly helping to an evening's feeling of delicacy," the lady of the house replied quietly. The number of parties she'd begged off of due to a headache or a feeling of faintness came to mind.

His smile at that was half genuine and half bitter. "Rather," he replied. "It is hardly the situation one wants to put oneself in if one is already feeling off balance."

"Very true, but I am pleased to hear that you are feeling well enough to join your cousin and myself this evening." Sera's golden gaze trailed to Victoria, offering her a faint smile, "How are you this evening, my dear?"

"Quite well, Aunt," the white queen murmured in reply.

"And how is your game going?" the question was directed to either of the two younger cats.

Mistoffelees glanced over at Victoria, offering her a warmer smile than his mother had come close to. "I believe it is going well as can be expected. Are you enjoying it?" he asked his cousin.

She returned the smile, nodding very slightly, "I am." Her gaze darted to her aunt, "But my cousin is too kind. I have this feeling that teaching me is rather holding him back from his usual challenge."

"One does not always need a challenge when one is in enjoyable company," the black tom replied. "Besides, I find that teaching someone else something allows you to look at it with new eyes. Not enough I would wish to ever become a full time teacher of course, but it can sometimes make something old and familiar look fresh and new."

Victoria inclined her head as she conceded the point, "I suppose that likely is true, and I thank you again for offering to teach me." Serafine remained silent as she watched the two young cats from behind her embroidery.

He shrugged the compliment off. "It's more enjoyable to spend an evening in company than alone," he said. "And this is a nice, mostly quiet engagement that I am quite enjoying. You're welcome then, I suppose, but it is really not too much bother."

His cousin offered him another smile before turning her attention back to the chessboard. Serafine's gaze moved to her son, uncertain how to broach any subject with him, "Have you seen any of your old schoolmates since returning to the city?"

He glanced over, not quite welcoming the conversation but not disregarding it either. "Yes, a few close friends who are also in town. We tend to dine together throughout the week and that habit has not much changed, though it is now less frequent. As to many more distant acquaintances, however, I rarely see them. However, uncle has been kind enough—" the way he said it was far too bitter for him to be entirely truthful—"to introduce me to more of his own set, as well as several business professionals."

Sera's lips quirked upward slightly at the tone, her own nearly matching his, "Yes, your uncle can be very obliging when welcoming someone home and into his set."

Victoria glanced from one to the other, having heard the tone from her aunt more than once in the many years that the older queen had lived with them. It usually came shortly after a conversation in harsh tones behind her father's closed study door. Mistoffelees himself arched a brow slightly at that. "He tries in different ways," he replied, voice a bit wary.

"Oh, undoubtedly. He most assuredly would try differently for his declared heir than for his wayward sister."

That got a long blink out of the black tom, as he glanced a little shame-faced at his cousin before turning his gaze back to his mother. "Not particularly," he said finally, realizing that was saying far too much, and implying far too much bitterness, but he had come there that evening to play an enjoyable chess game, not dance around his mother and their unresolved issues. "After all, declared heir or not, I am just your child and he expresses far little more than disapproval."

"For that I do apologize. My brother has a tendency to..." here she broke off, remembering her place and the presence of said brother's child in the room.

Victoria glanced between them again before rising, "I must beg your pardons, but I just remembered that I agreed to join Charlotte Fairbanks tomorrow morning. I should retire for the night. Good evening, Mistoffelees. Good evening, Aunt Sera."

Mistoffelees bit the inside of his lip, nodding to his cousin. "Good evening, Victoria. Perhaps we shall have a chance to work on the chess game more later." He turned to glance at his mother. "I feel my headache returning," he murmured. "So I believe I shall retire for the evening as well."

Serafine looked from one to the other before nodding very slightly, "Of course. Good evening to the both of you."

Mistoffelees inclined his head to her before all but retreating upstairs, settling back into his chambers at the top of the house, staring out the window for quite a while before finally allowing himself to settle enough to sleep.

Victoria dipped a slight curtsy to her aunt before retreating to her rooms for the remainder of the evening. Sera sat, her gaze focused pensively on the fire in the grate as she considered what she could possibly do to ever bridge the gap that was painfully apparent between herself and her son.

v.v.v.v

Several days later found Mistoffelees standing under the awning of a shop, staring with resignation at the rainstorm currently pouring forth its contents over London. He had left the house in too much of a rush, forgetting entirely an umbrella and his hat was hardly sufficient considering how much rain was coming down, and there were no cabs in sight.

Sighing, he shifted the parcel he had set out to pick up for his uncle, giving the sky a hopeful gaze, alas to no avail.

Coricopat Zimmerman made his way down the street, sheltered beneath an expansive umbrella, the collar of his overcoat turned up against any stray raindrops that might get past the cover over his head. He stepped under the awning of a shop, closing the umbrella enough to shake it out a bit as he let a few people pass by in far more of a hurry than he was. He had been rather hoping to sight a cab rather than return to his flat entirely by way of shank's mare, but it appeared that was not to be.

Still focused mostly on the sky, it took Mistoffelees more than a moment to turn enough to notice that one of the cats passing under his shelter was in fact one known to him. Not that he was entirely sure what to do with the appearance of the lawyer however. "Mr. Zimmerman," he greeted finally. "Good day."

The solicitor startled slightly, turning to the younger cat and tipping his hat, "Good day to you, Mr. Quaxo." His mind quickly flickered back to his conversation with Mac, 'tried and true'.

"How does this day find you?" the smaller tom asked, appraising the mottled tom's demeanor. "Other than damp of course."

"Beyond damp it finds me quite well. I am returning home, actually. And yourself? How does this day find you?"

"Lacking in essential survival gear, but otherwise well enough. It's a fine day, even if the sky is determined to keep crying."

A smile flitted across Coricopat's features at that, "Are you returning home, then, si—Mr. Quaxo?"

Eyebrow arching somewhat at the caught honorific, Mistoffelees nodded. "Yes, I was sent out to pick something up for my uncle, but the wetness of the moment is delaying me. Not enough to cause a problem, of course, but it is somewhat aggravating."

There was a long hesitation before the mottled tom spoke again, "I happen to be going at least part of the way in the direction of St. James Street. If you are not averse to it, you are welcome to share the shelter of my umbrella. At least until a cab can be found and hailed."

The smaller cat blinked for a moment and then he nodded. "If, I mean, if you would not mind, that would be quite wonderful. I could stand here for hours after all waiting for the rain to stop, only to have it give up the moment I was finally back inside soaking wet. I wouldn't wish to impose upon you however."

"It is no imposition. As I said, I am already heading in that general direction," Coricopat opened the umbrella fully again, "Shall we?"

"It is your umbrella, you may lead the way," Mistoffelees said, gesturing. "I am ready whenever you might be." He stepped up to the side of the other, already placing himself under said umbrella.

Cori inclined his head in acknowledgment before stepping out from under the awning and turning his steps toward his flat, "How have you been of late, Mr. Quaxo?"

Mistoffelees' brows went up again at the question, but he nodded. "Well enough. Things have been relatively quiet of late, and I only hope it is not the quiet before the storm. Life moves differently here than in Oxford." Less of it moving differently in London, than it did under Jones' roof.

"I would imagine it does. There is a great deal of difference between the capitol and a city of students, even such a prestigious one as Oxford. It is good to hear you have been doing at least well enough."

"Yes, well, London still carries the mark of plenty of students passing through," Mistoffelees replied. "We just don't rule the place in quite the same way. Or, I should say, they don't rule the place now I suppose. It is strange after almost twenty years to no longer be counted among their number, though I suppose one could always call oneself a student of life, though people rarely do." He realized what he was saying and snapped his mouth shut. "Besides, it is a change to live among others of your age and old professors to living in a household such as my uncle's."

"It is rather difficult to count oneself a student of life when one is in a position where what one has already learned is the strongest necessity," Coricopat murmured. "I can see how it would be a great change to go from the freedom of schoolmates and time spent among them to the requirements of heirship and households."

If his ears hadn't been flat already under the hat he was wearing, they would have flickered then. "Hypothetically speaking," he murmured, unsure whether that was to Coricopat's first statement or his second. He would swear aloud to anyone else it was the first though. "Freedom is still allowed an heir," he said finally after several steps in silence, as if he needed to justify that entire situation. "But the feel of a place is different, between a palace and a schoolroom."

"I do beg your pardon, I fear I have spoken out of turn and said something to offend you again," came the quiet response. "I presume too much. As you say, there is a vast difference between a palace and a schoolroom, though perhaps both have something to teach one?"

"But so few people presume too much, it's a novelty," Mistoffelees murmured. "You could do it as a party trick, and society would adore you." He paused, actually considering the more serious side of the other's words. "Every place has something to teach one, the question is whether it's a lesson one wishes to learn or not."

"I am certain society would throw me out on my ear should it become a regular habit." He thought for a moment before replying to the thought of the lessons, "Even hard lessons are of use at a later date. The unpalatable ones are often the ones we find were most effective in future dealings."

"Well, making a regular habit of it would mean the novelty would wear off, and that's society's most unforgivable sin," Mistoffelees replied, rolling a shoulder. "I never said the lessons one wished not to learn weren't the hard ones, though it's an easy enough assumption to make. Rather, lessons learned about society and the people around you, while not being the hard, painful knocks most regret, may make the world a bleaker place in smaller ways. The ghosts in the attic you'd rather not know." He was a little unsure what to make of joking in one breath and discussing hard won understanding in the next.

Corciopat's smile trended toward bitter, "Oh the ghosts in the attic. Do not think it's only those of society and the people around  _you_  who have them. There is a horror that haunts everycat, no matter their station, though the further up the class ladder the harder one strives to hide it I suspect."

"Did I ever imply it was just those at the top of society?" Mistoffelees inquired. "I certainly never meant to, as I am well aware are levels of society, and even that layer underneath that claims no part in society all have attics."

"I have done it again, haven't I? I fear that it may be better for me to not speak when I am in your company as I seem incapable of not giving offense." Coricopat spoke softly, "I fear that I have dealt too long with those of your station who do not recall that there are other levels of society that have secrets and feelings and hopes and dreams and sorrows."

Mistoffelees considered him for a long moment. "Beside the fact I think the majority of my social class was just insulted—not unjustifiably so, however—I find this idea you cannot seem to speak in front of me while you seem to get on fine in front of my uncle an interesting one."

"Perhaps if I returned to calling you 'sir' that would change, but I can't be certain of that. I do find myself begging your pardon again. I am usually alone with such thoughts after a day at the office."

"Well, perhaps those thoughts need more voice then," Mistoffelees said with his eyebrows still arched. "They seem like they've just been dying to get out. Furthermore, I stand by what I asked earlier. No sirs if you can help it please."

"And I shall still try to avoid calling you such," the solicitor fell silent rather than risk saying anything further that might offend the small black tom.

"You've been doing remarkably well so far," Mistoffelees told him, glancing out over the glistening wet street rather than actually look at the other tom.

"I...have a good deal of practice catering to unexpected whims. I really must voice my concern over the familiarity though."

"I'm young enough to be familiar," Mistoffelees informed him. "It's much more for my own sanity than society anyway." One ear flickered up before laying flat again at the mention of whims, wondering if the other knew exactly what a window that gave into his life. "Would familiarity really be such a bad thing?"

"Between a businessman and a client, and quite honestly, between a man of my station and one of yours, yes. There are the societal norms that, even if they are more trouble than they can be worth sometimes, must be observed at least casually. The term of address you've requested is hardly suitable for who you are. Not to mention the fact that should we continue to do business you are my employer just as much as my client and therefore due a good deal of respect that the term of address I would use for another in the professions seems rather inadequate," Coricopat stopped, glancing warily at the other as he realized that he had just offered a lecture rather than a simple answer.

Mistoffelees just tilted his head, as he considered that entire spiel, well aware it had been more of a lecture than anything. "I suppose what I find most interesting," he mused without rancor. "Is the fact you find it acceptable to lecture me but not be familiar. Besides which, the entire conversation hinges of me wishing to be who I am, and the fact that you wish to constantly to remind me. Maybe it's idealistic and foolish to expect anything else from any situation and you are perhaps the more correct in this situation, but can you really blame me for wishing?"

"I...am entirely at a loss as to how to respond to that question, I must admit. To say yes is to obviously run parallel to society but counter to you and to reply no is something that I am sure would have my father, God rest his soul, rolling in his grave. If you were not who you are, which mind you is not something you can change at the drop of a hat or the shedding of an honorific, who would you wish to be?"

"Then say what you wish to say," Mistoffelees responded. "Perhaps that is easier for someone in my position to say than someone in yours, but if I really minded you speaking honestly, do you not think you would be abundantly aware of that at the moment? As to who I would be I—" he cut off and looked away again. "I could hardly tell. There are so many lives one could lead but no way to do so. Running away to join a gypsy caravan sounds romantic until one realizes one would never actually do such a thing."

"You would rather join the wandering gypsies than live in society?" The lawyer glanced at the smaller tom in disbelief, "I am not certain it is so much a would never as a could never. Whether you like it or not you have been brought up amidst wealth and it would be a difficult thing indeed to shed the habits that such a position avails one of." His grey gaze strayed to the rain that poured off of the edges of the umbrella, his thoughts moving to his father who had been a younger son and his mother who had been a daughter of a small lord. They had never lived within their means.

"I am still here, am I not?" he replied, voice dropping slightly. "I haven't run away yet though some days make me consider it. To live completely outside of society though, can you not see how that could be appealing to one who can't breathe wrong but all of society would be discussing it. The freedom to move and travel and live as one wanted, isn't that an ideal? The truth would be much worse, I am sure, but without ideals and dreams, where would one be?"

"One would be living for what occurs today rather than what they cannot reach tomorrow," Cori replied almost testily.

Mistoffelees' head actually flinched back slightly at that. "What of when what occurs today is an endless cycle of dancing around in circles with your companions, rarely saying what you truly feel or think, or being molded to what you're not. What of when your todays are at the whims of Bustopher Jones?" he asked, voice entirely soft and almost too quiet too be heard over the sound of rain on the flagstones and other cat's steps. "Why do you take cats having dreams as a personal affront?"

"Because they do more harm than good. You have to daily deal with the whims of your uncle, true. I have daily to deal with the whims of a half dozen clients all of comparable pride, if not standing, as he does. Achievable dreams are one thing, those that are no more than fantasy harm the dreamer and those closest to them. They always have," Coricopat knew that he had only half answered the question, but he wasn't certain he wished to delve any deeper into that.

"You go home and live, I presume, by yourself, or at least to your own discretion," Mistoffelees replied. "My entire life is plotted out by another's whims. I have a say in what I wear during a day. I have less say in anything else. If I'm lucky, I'll get a passing remark on whom I shall end up with as a wife, or on what profession I shall finally have to settle upon. I am sorry for whoever's dreams harmed you, but can you really claim to understand my life, no matter how much time you spend dancing around the edge of my world?"

"I do not claim to understand your life, anymore than you can claim to understand mine," the mottled tom replied tersely. "I beg pardon for appearing to do so, but you really do have no idea of what goes on outside your circle, no matter how much you may like to believe you do. I am sorry that you find my opinions distasteful, but they are just that. My opinions, which I do have a right to. Yes,  _now_  I return home to my own flat to spend my evenings alone with a book or with paperwork that simply  _must_  be completed by the next morning or risk a cut in pay for the services of my firm. It was not always so. Law and pandering to the wishes of others for the rest of my living days was certainly not a wish I had as a kit, but here I stand, trapped inextricably within the path of treading as though on eggshells around cats like you and others of your class who claim one minute to find honesty a potentially interesting 'parlor trick' and the next take offense at an honestly stated opinion."

Mistoffelees bit back the childish wish to say that the mottled tom had taken offense with the conversation before he had. It took him a long moment before he could come up with any other civil answer however. "I still appreciate your honesty," he said softly, paying more attention to the cobblestones than the other. "That doesn't mean I always agree with your opinions, nor does it mean honesty cannot cut deep. It's still more refreshing to talk with you than most of the cats I do day to day. But why does it bother you so much? Or are you just taking out pent up aggression out of me, in which case you're as much of a hypocrite as anyone."

"Dreams fade, leaving rather decent holes in their place. Hopes grow rusty and disintegrate beneath the harsh light of reality and leave the ones who were supporting those with said hopes holding broken shells. Dreamers cannot survive, nor can those who live on false promises given by them."

"You're right, dreamers can't survive," Mistoffelees said, finally looking back up at him. "If they instead come out of their cocoons as very bitter men instead. I'm sorry for whoever made you into that, but I disagree. Dreamers are the only ones who change the world, but they need the architects and engineers to back them up. Dreamers can survive, they just can't do it on their own."

"Dreamers reach for the unattainable, and though they are beautiful spirits while their hopes lie within their grasps, or even while they still believe that they are, the disappointment breaks them as a stone might break a bird's wing. The tragedy of it is agonizing. For those few lucky ones who have support, they have to battle past said architects and engineers' own personal convictions. By the time they have, you often find those few lucky ones in even fewer numbers than when they first began," Coricopat sighed heavily, shaking his head. "It is better not to dream than for said dreams to fall by the wayside and lie forgotten until the years decay them into faint memories that lead only to regret."

"How does the entire world not know you're a broken shell of a man anymore?" Mistoffelees exclaimed. "If your view of the world is that harsh and bleak, I'm surprised they haven't found you dead in a ditch yet."

Coricopat's jaw tensed at that, "There are more important things than my bitterness to keep me here and active in the daily charade of life. I have family and friends who need the balance of a quiet word here and there. I am not certain my partner wouldn't have me resurrected just to kill me again in order to express his anger at having me dead in a ditch."

"I suddenly don't want to know what you go home to," Mistoffelees managed to tell him. "It seems unbearably dreary. Do you step on butterflies too, just for the fun of it?"

"No, I happen to avoid anything of such overtly and physically cruel nature. I find a good book, a cup of tea, and a warm fire often take the edge off of this. You happened to catch me at the end of a long day of dealing with engagement papers. I rarely do well dealing with papers dictating the way a person's life shall have to go from this day forth."

"I'm sorry," Mistoffelees murmured. "But you did sort of set yourself up for that with your career choice. It still... can't be fun though."

"I believe I've already mentioned not wanting the position in the first place, but that is neither here nor there now." He paused on the stoop of a dark wood door with a brass knocker, "This is my home. I would invite you up, but I do believe you should deliver that package to your uncle, hm? Feel free to keep the umbrella until such time as we might encounter one another again, the likelihood of a cab between here and St. James is minimal."

Mistoffelees blinked, honestly surprised. He'd been so caught up in the conversation he had in fact completely forgotten to even look for a cab off the street. "Oh. Oh, yes, of course, thank you very much for letting me use it this far," he said, voice contending to his current confusion.

Coricopat withdrew his key and handed the umbrella off to the smaller tom, "A good afternoon to you, Mr. Quaxo."

"Thank you," he murmured, accepting the umbrella after a moment. "A good day to you as well," he added, looking down.

"Thank you," the mottled tom murmured before retreating within the building and up the two flights of stairs to his flat, closing and locking the door behind him. He leaned against the solid wood for a long moment, trying to figure out exactly why the heir to the baron's estate caused such candid responses from him. So much for 'tried and true'.

Mistoffelees blinked at the building door for several long moments in the rain before finally turning his paws back to St. James' Street, unsure of what to really make of any of that.

v.v.v.v

The same evening on another side of town, Alonzo Hughes all but fell into the flat he shared with Munkustrap, though it felt most days like he didn't actually live there considering how many late nights he was out. His flatmate looked up from the newspaper he was perusing, one eyebrow rising, "Good evening, 'Lonzo. How was your day?"

The black and white patched tom managed to make it to the sofa before collapsing down, dropping his briefcase down by the side. "You cannot have just asked me that," Alonzo informed him, giving him a long look. "Let my groan of pain be answer enough."

"That good, hm? How is the illustrious Growltiger today? His latest proposal not accepted?"

"His latest proposal for the control of the opium trade was not only not accepted, but resolutely defeated and cried down from the majority of corners. I have since been yelled at, threatened, and I think I was in danger of having something undignified thrown at my head."

"Has he not yet determined that though the control of the opium trade may be a noble one, even for ignoble reasons, the tendency of gentlemen to indulge in such practices means that they would rather have his head than lose their pipes?" Munkus shook his head, "At least you've apparently escaped with your hide, and job, hm?"

"For the moment," Alonzo agreed. "But next time I come up with any career aspirations, do remind me that my father's job of clerk made a very good living and aspirations are for those who wish short life spans. In fact, remind me that becoming a sheep farmer is a better plan than a politician's aide."

"I shall do my best, but considering my own family lineage and my position as a detective of Scotland Yard I can hardly advise another as to a safe route of life. On the other hand, as a politician's aide you are rather trapped in the current political maelstrom, no matter which way the wind blows. I wish you luck and recommend a retreat when you have the opportunity."

"Sheep farming is a noble profession," Alonzo said weakly from the couch. "The very kings of Ireland could do no better."

"And look where it got them," came the reply. The silver tabby sighed, "I'm sorry, yes sheep farming is quite the noble profession. And you do have a tidy sum put away that could start you on that road."

"I hate sheep," came the next weak response.

The second brow rose to join the first, "Then perhaps horses? Or simply an estate manager for a country lord or something. It would get you away from parliament at least."

"Yes, that might be a plan. I'm thinking parliament is only for the suicidal and the hopeless at this point."

"Can I get you anything? Some tea perhaps?" he folded his newspaper, setting it aside.

"Tea would be lovely," Alonzo said, voice still a little on the weak side. "Henry Growltiger is a great man. I don't think I ever want to see another great man as long as I live though."

Munkus rose, heading into the kitchen as he called over his shoulder, "Everyone said Captain Deuteronomy Hollister was a great man as well. If those two are shining examples of the standard then I am happy with my anonymity and more than pleased to live and die as a small man."

"Small men are good. Medium men might even be nice," Alonzo said with a nod. "I think I like medium men. A nice, happy balance."

"Alonzo, you're sounding delusional again. You really need to try for shorter hours or something," his flatmate called as he set the kettle on to boil.

Alonzo ran a paw over his face. "I know, I'm sorry. I don't know what to do with myself some nights, you're a very, well, small man to put up with me the way you do, even if I do pay half the rent."

Munkus laughed, "It was you or one of my brothers. Putting up with you is a lark in comparison."

"Point," Alonzo said, raising one paw over the back of the couch. He'd met the other Hollisters after all, and there was a reason he made himself scarce at any family gathering. "That being said, I almost hope Growltiger loses the next election."

"You and I both. Can you imagine the level of work that would filter down to those of us who have to enforce the laws he's proposing?"

"I'm trying not to," Alonzo admitted. "Besides, he looks fine from the outside, but he's actually completely insane when you get even a little bit closer to that mind. I mean, truly frighteningly so."

The tabby emerged with a pot of tea and two cups, "How so? Or should I not inquire?"

"Please don't," Alonzo said, shaking his head slightly. "He just... the way his mind twists the world to suit himself, added to the way he can be utterly intense about the smallest things, concerns me when I know he's in a position of power. Also, you are amazing and I do not deserve you as a flatmate, as that is tea you're holding."

"Then we shall desperately hope that he never comes to power beyond one that can be voted down, hm?" Munkus poured a cup of tea for his flatmate and handed it over, "And no, you most certainly do not, but I fear you would go mad should anyone else share the flat with you."

"Agreed and probably," Alonzo said with a nod. "Or they would. All around, I'm sure it would be a mess."

"Very likely. As it is you need not concern yourself with the thought as I am your flatmate and you are stuck with the situation as such," he retreated to his chair with his own cup of tea and his paper.

"Oh good," Alonzo murmured, letting out a sigh as he drank the tea, finally relaxing since he got home. "I'm quite alright with that arrangement, since tomorrow I must again work with my boss."

"Good luck with that. I am sure you shall need it."

"Always do," Alonzo said, sinking further down into the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your Author, Victoriousscarf: Oh, good god, this chapter. Several things about it: a) You can tell from the first three sentences how many Victorian novels I read because I swear it looks like it came out of Middlemarch. b) This is officially the point where our characters got utterly out of hand. We no longer know what to do with Misto or Cori. and c) Oh Alonzo. He is a very put upon character and his main source of aggravation hasn't even shown up yet. However, he's an easy way to introduce the character of Growltiger without bringing Growltiger onto the stage quite yet. ((Also, he's totally Irish. Just so you know.))
> 
> Your Author, Meadowlark: Oh, this chapter. Coricopat was not supposed to be such a broken bird in this one. He was actually supposed to be the sane and balanced one this time through. I'm still considering burying him in a deep hole or throwing him into a cave for the rest of his living days. I had no idea he wasn't the sane, balanced character I was expecting until this scene. All will be explained in later chapters, but God above, these characters some days...


	6. Rose Gloriously To the Occasion

Coricopat entered the offices of Bailey and Co the following morning, shaking the rainwater off of his hat before hanging it and his coat up to dry behind the door. He barely glanced at Macavity as he crossed the room to the filing cabinet and withdrew the Barton files. The ginger tabby, already seated at his desk, arched a brow at that.

"Looking a little damp there," Macavity remarked. "You lose your umbrella or something?"

"I, hm? Oh, yes I suppose so. How are you this morning?" The mottled tom retreated to his desk, settling down to work and doing his best to not think about how exactly he lost his umbrella.

Macavity's brows just inched higher and higher. "You suppose you lost your umbrella? No, I'm sensing a story here, and you know how I get when I don't hear stories."

"I gave it to somecat who needed it more than I do. I managed to catch a cab through some minor feat of God's grace this morning, they were rather in short supply yesterday," he sorted through his desk for a pen, finally locating one and still not looking at his partner.

"You grew empathy over night?" Macavity asked. "When did that happen and why was I not informed by a voice on high?  _Who_  needed it more than you?"

"I have empathy," came the almost indignant reply. "As to who it was, some cat I met on the street last night. They looked rather damp, or heading toward being rather damp."

"I am still in awe and shock and all sorts of other emotions. Though, you still haven't actually answered my question of whom the cat in question was."

"I did, though! Some cat I encountered who was looking rather damp."

Macavity looked at him for a long moment. "Do you know this cat at all?" he pressed.

Cori shrugged, "Sort of? Not really. I mean, I suppose one might say that."

"Looking for a name here, Cor, and you know what I get like if I think you're keeping important details from me,"

"I don't recall the name?" Coricopat offered, weakly.

Macavity threw his pencil at the mottled tom's head. "Seriously? You of the extra great memory? Come on, or next time I'll stab the pencil through your heart."

"Strangely enough I expected something like that. I seem to recall mentioning that should I end up dead you would have me revived simply so that you could kill me again for having died on you in the first place," Cori leaned down and picked up the pencil that had been tossed at him.

That got another slow blink at the ginger tabby. "And whom was this mentioned to?"

"I...don't know that that's your concern."

Another pencil went hurtling toward Coricopat's ear. "Cor! You are keeping things from me an—oh god who art in heaven, tell me this wasn't in a conversation with dear little Quaxo!"

Coricopat's ear flattened, just in time to avoid the pencil, "Then I won't."

"Cor!" Macavity exclaimed, more than loud enough for Bailey to hear, who pounded on his door for them to shut up and get back to work. "I swear to god," he hissed, leaning over his desk. "What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing!" the mottled tom shot a wary glance toward their employer's closed door, "I encountered him last night, he was picking up a package for his uncle and we walked a little ways together. That's  _all_."

"Why am I having difficulty believing you at the moment? Oh right, because you mentioned me killing you for the pleasure of doing it myself, which is looking more and more likely by the moment, by the way. So, what else did you two talk about then?"

"...He may have brought up hopes and dreams," came the barely audible response.

"You then what? Rose gloriously to the occasion?" Macavity demanded.

"I suppose that depends on what you mean by that. We ended that part of the conversation with him in shock that I had yet to turn up dead in a ditch due to my bitterness..."

Macavity buried his face in his paws, slowly bringing them up to rub the heel over his eyes. "You dead in a ditch? I'm going to end up dead of a heart attack or because Jones has decided to liquidate our entire firm, I haven't figured out which yet. Is their something wrong with your brain? Do you have a brain tumor? Is that what's causing you to say all sorts of things you normally wouldn't say? I would prefer you to die of brain disease than the other option here."

"What other option? I have little fear that Jones will decide to liquidate our firm as I'm pretty much certain he and his nephew never speak, and his nephew avoids him enough that he is unlikely to complain to him. It was a chance encounter and there is no reason to fear it happening again, Mac," Cor attempted to reassure.

"Uh-huh," Macavity did not look like he believed that in the least. "The last two times you've seen this tom, you've said god knows what, probably more than enough to get you shipped to a penal colony and you're trying to reassure me it won't happen again?"

"I'm not going to be shipped to a penal colony for a couple of conversations, neither of which hold even the hint of cause. We do, however, have work to do. I shall continue to remind myself to stick to tried and true phrases as you call them, and I shall avoid him outside of actual professional dealings, alright?" Cori turned his attention to the file in front of him, "That's all I can promise."

"I'm not trusting you to promise that at this point, but I guess we shall have to wait and see," Macavity said, shaking his head.

v.v.v.v

Tumblebrutus sighed as he followed Pouncival toward the backstage area of the theatre after the play was over, "Remind me again why we're not simply getting drinks and going home?"

"Didn't you think that was a wonderful production?" Pounce replied over his shoulder.

"You're doing that answering a question with a question thing again. You know that's rude. And, yes, I did think it was a rather delightful play, but I do not see what that has to do with this."

"I thought we could congratulate the performers on a job well done."

"We'll write a letter and send flowers, then," Tumble suggested, still following the other patched tom through the theatre. "How do you even know we're going the right way?"

"Instinct. There's the stage, hence the backstage area must be in this direction. And flowers and a letter are hardly adequate to encapsulate the exquisite beauty that was that performance."

"Pouncival," Tumble's voice was weary, "I will grant that it was a lovely production, but it was hardly the best play I've seen this year. The lauds you're giving it would imply that it is on par with the great masterworks."

Pounce shrugged as he pushed open the door to the backstage, which was concealed by a thick drapery, "I still liked it. And I think we should congratulate them."

"Pounce?"

"Yes?"

"Tell me this has nothing to do with the lovely little red calico ingenue with the delicate demeanor."

"Alright, then I won't. Come on, I need you to vouch that you were with me all evening."

"Your father is going to kill you!" Tumble hissed his protest as they entered the organized chaos that was the backstage after the show.

"Only if he finds out," Pounce rejoined, sidestepping some sets.

Said little red calico ingenue with the delicate demeanor was waiting, having heard some word from Pounce that he was coming that evening. Jemima Forester approached the pair a little rapidly though she attempted to make it look at least partially natural. "Hello there good sirs," she greeted, eying Tumble since she had never seen him before. "Did you enjoy the performance?"

Tumble shot Pounce a long-suffering look, but nodded very slightly, "It was charming."

Pouncival offered Jemima a smile, "Charming? It was exquisite. Tumble, allow me to present Miss Jemima Forester. Miss Forester, Tumblebrutus Carpenter."

Tumble bowed to the young queen, "A pleasure, Miss Forester."

She bobbed a quick curtsy. "It's always nice to meet someone new, especially someone who is a friend of Pounce's?" her voice tilted up toward a question as she glanced at Pounce to confirm that belief. "I am very glad you both enjoyed the show."

Pounce nodded slightly in answer to the look, "Tumble's an old school friend of mine."

Said tom glanced between the two other young cats, "I'm going to go stand over there," he nodded toward one of the walls away from the cats bustling about, "let me know when you're ready to leave, Pounce. Again, it was a pleasure, Miss Carpenter."

She bobbed down again, glancing in slight concern to Pounce but smiled at Tumble before he moved away. "It's good to meet you. I hope you have an enjoyable evening."

Just at that moment, before Tumble could actually go through with his planned retreat another two cats approached. Tugger Hollister, looking only barely put together for the evening had his arm slung low around Bombalurina Harris' waist as they weaved their way through the crowd. Bombalurina had a shawl draped around her shoulders as it was a bit chilly out that evening and her costume was all for show and not for any actual wholesome warmth.

"Jems!" Tugger greeted, knowing all the actors and actresses in the house by name, and usually a bit more than that too. "You did wonderfully tonight, as you always do." Bomba nodded her agreement, already scoping out the two toms next to the younger queen. "And who are these?" Tugger continued, tilting his head in consideration. "Is one of these that mysterious tom I hear whispers about every once and a while? Or are you a very naughty kit and have both of them?" Jemi just blushed deeply at that. She liked Tugger well enough, even enjoyed his company on most nights, but this was not one of those nights.

Pounce bristled at that, biting back a growl, but before he could respond Tumble spoke quietly, "No, we came to offer the cast our congratulations on a delightful performance. I'm simply the mode of transportation this evening so we've stopped to as I said congratulate the performers." He offered Bomba a slight bow, "Which I very much believe extends to yourself, milady. You did well this evening, it was a pleasure to watch."

Tugger's brows rose, as much from Pounce's reaction as Tumble's spiel. Bombalurina smiled at Tumble, saying in her somewhat husky voice, "Thank you kindly, good sir. It is always refreshing to hear someone has enjoyed your performance, since some don't seem inclined to offer you such a simple courtesy." She shot Tugger a sarcastic look and he just offered her back a grin.

"Alright, kitty, I'll believe you're not Jems' catch, but your quiet friend there is still in the game," Tugger told him, completely ignoring Bomba's pointed comment. He let his arm finally fall from her waist and she rolled her shoulders. "Do you two often enjoy the theatre then?" Jemi just continued to blush.

Tumble nodded slightly, speaking before Pounce could say anything again, "When the opportunity arises, yes. It is a delightful way to spend an evening. And yourself? Are you here as spectator or participant?"

"A spectator," Tugger replied smoothly.

"That's just because no one would ever preform the tripe you attempt to write," Bombalurina said with another sarcastic smile.

Tugger just about stepped on her paw, but shrugged instead. "They don't know good writing, dear," he said instead. "You don't know good writing for that matter, but you sure know how to make any drivel full of emotion."

"I'd rather be able to make someone feel what I want them to feel than write pretty words no one listens to or reads," she rejoined. "At least they remember what I infuse them with." Tugger opened his mouth again and Jemi cut in.

"Would you two mind?" she asked softly, before turning back to Tumble and Pounce. "Tugger does not work here, he just knows everyone. I'm sure he was just leaving?" she offered hopefully, turning her large eyes on him. Usually it was hard for him to resist those eyes, but for some reason the two toms interested him. Or at least the one that was talking did.

"Sorry darling," he replied. "I don't have to be back for a while tonight. I was thinking of offering select members of the cast drinks instead."

"So long as that doesn't include me," Bomba informed him and his face fell slightly. "I have plans honey," she told him, patting her cheek. "A nice older gentleman who actually understands taste. Have a good night if you can manage, and it was lovely to meet both of you. Thank you for the compliments," she told Pounce and Tumble, bobbing a quick curtsy before flouncing off, leaving Tugger seething.

Pounce just shook his head at that, asking Jemima, "Good God, do they always do that?"

Tumble watched the actress sashay away, "Well, that was rather interesting." He took a couple of subtle steps away from Pounce and Jemima, his attention returning to Tugger still moving away from the couple as he asked, "So what is it you do if you're not involved with the theatre?"

Jemi nodded to her beau, face a little miserable, but luckily Tugger's attention was on Tumble, so she answered honestly. "It's exhausting when those two are in the same space, especially if either of them are feeling, well, a little angry with anything. One time they started yelling, and everyone could hear them from the dressing rooms.

Pounce's brows rose, "Good heavens. Well, it could be worse I suppose." He offered her a smile, "You were amazing tonight."

Jemi nodded again and by the end of his sentence, a smile bloomed across her face. "You think so? I thought most of my scenes were a little flat tonight, but it's sweet of you to say that."

"Me?" Tugger asked, eyes tracking the patched tom, stepping to the side to follow the other's path. "Nothing much. I work on a newspaper."

"Really? A newspaper?" Tumble looked skeptical, "In what capacity?"

"I'm an editor," he said. "I also run the press, and on occasion write." He caught Tumble's skeptical look and frowned. "What, you think I'm some newsboy or something just because I don't buy into your class ideas of what makes proper dress?"

"The editor? Which paper did you say again?" Tumble glanced over the taller tom again, "And it's got nothing to do with your method of dress, it's more the air you have, not what I would expect of a newsman."

"You clearly haven't met many newsmen," Tugger said with a laugh. "Besides, I never claimed a paper. That you'll have to find out on your own if you care enough for it." He glanced over to where Jemi and Pounce were still talking quietly together. "So, you're what, here as cover for the two lovebirds over there?"

"I'm here as his ride home. So, you edit and run the press and write. What do you write if I might ask?"

"Articles," he replied, eyebrow arching at the avoidance of his actual question. "Sometimes I've tried my paw at other things, such as plays with actual themes, which so many of our current productions lack. Sometimes poetry but I found that dull after only a few lines and have long since given it up."

"Let me rephrase, what sort of articles?" Tumble asked finally, appearing to study one of the set pieces, while keeping an eye on Pounce and Jemima.

"They look cute together," Tugger tried again to get more information. "Well, mostly opinion pieces and the like. It's a small press, I admit that, but our readership is starting to grow finally. We certainly have a lot going for us and such. After all, most working toms jump on the bandwagon as soon as they understand what socialism could offer them once we overthrow the ruling class systems. The inequality of our society stifles countless lives after all, and everlasting cat only knows how the ruling class has managed to keep it up this long, considering their flagrant disregard for any cat besides themselves and their consistent waste of money that could be used for so many other things that would actually be useful rather than mansions that appease no one but the owners."

Tumble smiled thinly, "Yes they are lovely aren't they. And you do realize most of those mansions are inherited and not the fault of the cats currently residing in them, yes?"

"There's more being built constantly," he replied. "Or refurnished or any other number of wastes. Besides, they could just as easily sell their estates and put the money to good use. Or even take the damn places down and put those stones and foundations to good use. Or turn some of the big houses into hospitals or orphanages which are much more needed."

"Granted those are needed. But do you really think the way to get that change to take place is to excite the working class toward riot? After all the strength of the law rests in the wealthy cat's advantage."

"Then we need new laws," Tugger said, voice getting more and more animated as he went, paws finally coming into the picture as well as he started gesturing with them. "The wealthy have no right to rule, except as you pointed out by an accident of birth. If they were born anywhere else no cat would pay them much mind but since they're born through sheer chance into money, suddenly they get to decide the rest of our fates?" He'd stopped paying Jems and Pounce any mind.

"How do you propose changing those laws, when they have to pass through the paws of the wealthy as well?" Tumble shook his head, "It's a noble thought, but unrealistic."

"That's what we have revolution for," he declared and then paused, an almost suspicious look passing over his features, and tried to cut off any reference to the French Revolution with a change of topic. "What do you do again?"

Tumble offered him a charming smile, "I'm heir to Lord Anthony Carpenter's estate. I should have a seat in Parliament within the next year sometime."

Jutting his jaw out slightly, Tugger blinked at him in silence for several long moments as he processed that while pouting. "That, you... you sneak. I should have figured that out five minutes ago but what the hell were you about, letting me go on like that?"

The smaller tom shrugged, "I had nothing else to do with my time besides listen to you. And you seem rather passionate about it. Even if it is talk of deposing my class, it was interesting and you do make good points."

Tugger worked his jaw for several more minutes before finally looking away. "Yes, well, as long as I have some good points," he said a little weakly. There was another blink as he finally processed fully, just about freezing all motion. "Wait, you mean Jems' tom is a lord's son?" After all, they came together, they dressed the same—that dress should have been a hint as well, damn it. One was the other's ride, which all added up to them being close friends, which probably meant growing up in the same world and same sort of life style. The shock of that idea made the insult Tumble had just did upon him sting a little less.

"I-I never said anything of that sort. Th-there's no reason for that to follow. Is there?" The question sounded weak to Tumble's own ears.

"Oh, there are plenty of reasons," Tugger said, suddenly with a shark's smile. "You move the same, you dress the same, he dragged you here and you came, you're his ride... You're clearly good, and equal friends, and my rants aside you don't seem to have any leanings toward equality of the classes which all adds up to him being on par with you."

"H-he's a distant cousin?" Tumble offered weakly. It was technically true.  _Distantly_  his mother's family was descended from the same family as Pounce's father's, but it was several generations back.

"Which means he's all lordly somehow," Tugger said, watching the other. "Besides, your speech patterns change far too much when you're lying for me to believe you."

"I'm not lying! We are d-distant cousins. And second sons s-still are accepted by the f-family."

Tugger arched a brow. "If you're trying to imply that he's a second son, that's great, but that's still sticking him as nobility of some kind, heir or not. But your stammer there is implying lord's son and heir and all that delicious scandal."

"S-scandal?" The patched tom yelped, "Th-that...I...you..."

"Yes?" Tugger offered gleefully. "What about you and me now?"

Tumble finally pulled himself together enough to form a coherent thought into speech, "It's only a s-scandal," alright almost there without the stutter, he was going to kill Pounce and see what sort of scandal that caused, "if it gets out."

"Oh?" Tugger asked. "How would it get out then? Or, not as the case may be?" he left it open to see if the other thought he was asking for a bribe.

Tumble's brown eyes narrowed at that and his voice turned cold, "I wouldn't know, but considering what Lord Smythe will do to cover up any hint of scandal I wouldn't want to be the cat who let it slip. Besides," here his tone softened as he looked toward Pounce and Jemima, "it's not just the one who publishes the story who would suffer for it. He's got a vicious temper when defending what he perceives as his name and honor."

Tugger's own brows rose then. "Hey, I'm not planning on publishing anything here. You think I care about a lord's son dallying with an actress? All the power to them, just," he narrowed his own gold eyes at the other tom. "If he hurts her, money or not he better watch his step."

"Something tells me that if he hurts her you won't have to worry about it," Tumble replied, shaking his head as he watched his friend.

"Fair enough," Tugger said with a shrug, glancing at the pair again before turning to consider the other tom while his attention was elsewhere. "Just watch out for that, because there's a lot of rough folk down here that would take all sorts of offense. At any rate, it's getting late and I'm sure any excuses you have for those dear lords of yours are going to be wearing thin here."

"Well, mine aren't, but his will be," the smaller tom agreed, glancing up at the other cat. "It occurs to me now that I'm bidding you a good evening, I don't believe I ever got your name."

Brows going up again, Tugger grinned his shark's grin again, holding out a paw. "Tugger Hollister at your service then, oh lord's son."

"Tumblebrutus Carpenter," warily, Tumble eyed Tugger's paw before finally shaking it. "Good to meet you, Mr. Hollister."

"Lovely to meet you as well then, Tumblebrutus. That's a long mouthful, do you go by anything shorter?"

"I-I...g-go by...th-that is..." He finally gathered his thoughts, "s-some call me-"

"Tumble!" Pounce called as he approached, still with Jemima at his side, "It's getting late."

Tumble glanced at his friend and nodded, "It is." Turning back to Tugger again he inclined his head, "Good evening to you, Mr. Hollister."

"Evening to yourself, Tumble," Tugger said, dropping the familiar name like it meant nothing in the world. "A good night to you as well," he said, nodding to Pounce before turning and strolling away back through the emptying theatre.

Tumblebrutus gaped after the taller cat and Pounce's brows rose, "Did he just call you—"

"Y-yes."

"Did you tell him he coul—"

"N-no."

"Have you met him bef—"

"N-no."

"I'll be—" he stopped himself before he swore in front of Jemi. Turning, Pounce offered his sweetheart a smile and kissed the back of her paw, "I'll see you later, my dear. I really do hate to have to rush, but we'll be late home otherwise. Good evening, Jem." She smiled and nodded, well knowing when Pounce needed to be home for the night. She waved after them.

Tumble tipped his hat to Jemima before heading for the exit to let the coachman know that they were ready to leave. He drew his coat tighter around himself at the chill in the air, his ears flat beneath his hat. He would claim that was due to the wind that hit him across the face as he stepped outside and had nothing to do with a certain tall, leopard-patterned tom. He was settled in the carriage when Pounce entered it a few minutes later, but his responses to any questions were so stammered or clipped that his friend finally gave up and the ride progressed in silence, each alone with his thoughts.

v.v.v.v

Coricopat stepped out of Lord Jones' study, closing the door softly behind him. He'd been called in to advise His Lordship in regards to a few business matters and nearly an hour and a half later they had finally finished. He moved nearly silently down the hall to the door, his steps muffled by the thick runner down the center of the hall. His grey gaze skirted around the hall, though he would state that he was simply admiring the decoration. It would have been a lie, the style of décor was excessive and pretentious, he sought a glimpse of His Lordship's nephew, though whether Cori himself was aware of that was uncertain. He finally reached the entryway and paused for a moment, glancing up the stairs before starting toward the door.

Mistoffelees was in fact just coming inside, having gone out on another of Jones' errands, being drafted for them often enough he wondered what his uncle had done before he had arrived home. Pausing in the doorway in the process of taking off his gloves and hanging his hat and coat, Mistoffelees just stared at the lawyer from across the room in some surprise before smiling faintly and inclining his head. "Mr. Zimmerman. Good day."

Cori hesitated, offering the smaller cat a smile and enough of an inclination of his head to qualify as a slight bow, "Good day to you as well, Mr. Quaxo."

"Not even an attempted sir in there, you're improving," he said, teasing quietly. "How does this day find you?"

"Very well, thank you. And yourself?" the mottled tom asked quietly, carefully running everything he said through a check to see if it qualified as tried and true. So far it was working, but they'd only just barely exchanged pleasantries.

"The day is agreeable," the smaller tom replied as he thought of something. "Oh, I haven't had a chance to return your umbrella, and though the weather has been nice these last few days, I believe you shall have need of it sooner rather than later. I left it upstairs, if you would not mind taking the time to get it."

"I...have no pressing engagements, so I certainly can take that time."

"Alright," Mistoffelees said and gestured up the stairs. "I believe I left it in the library, which I assume you know by now." He led the way up anyway, tail swaying gently behind him. The solicitor hesitated for a long moment, before following the younger cat up the stairs, his gaze focused on the handrail. The curve of it absolutely riveting this time up.

Tragically for him, the library was more than one flight up, but Mistoffelees pushed the door open soon enough, holding it open for the other rather than entering first.

Coricopat offered him a faint smile that he hoped was less of a grimace than it felt like, as he entered the library. He glanced around the room, one brow arching at the sight of a particular book set by a chair, "Dickens?"

Mistoffelees blinked from where he had already been going to where he left the umbrella after a servant made sure it was dry. He'd forgotten to hide the book when he left and regretted it now. "Is something wrong with Dickens?" he asked, forcing his voice to be light as he picked  _A Tale of Two Cities_  up. This time, he intended to at least put it somewhere more out of sight.

Shrugging, the mottled tom shook his head, "It could certainly be worse. It just wasn't what I expected to see you reading I suppose."

"Dare I ask what you did?" Mistoffelees asked, a faint half smile hiding in the corner of his mouth.

"I-I'm not really sure, but Dickens certainly wasn't it. I didn't think his work would even touch the shelves here."

"Well, my uncle never touches the shelves either. I may smuggle in hack writers from time to time." He shrugged, going to put the book back in it's spot between two more respectable volumes, where many other writers were hidden in among the books if one looked hard enough. Continuing his path, he finally found the umbrella, holding it back out in front of him.

Cori had trailed over to the nearest shelf absently, but turned quickly to face the heir to the estate, offering a flickering smile as he took the umbrella, "Thank you. I should probably be heading back now..."

"If you must," Mistoffelees said with a faint shrug. "I should be thanking you for letting me use it, especially considering the walk involved."

"Which was my fault. I apparently had no control over my words at that time. I do deeply apologize for what I said offending you," came the murmured response.

The smaller tom shrugged again. "Come now. I may have come out looking at least somewhat like a hypocrite, but it was a different experience. I can't remember the last time someone talked to me like that, probably because no one ever has."

"Well, considering your position and the normal assumptions that come in regards to it can you blame cats for that?"

"No," Mistoffelees said with another small twist of his mouth. "Which probably makes you either fearless, foolish, or your mouth has gotten away from you for god only knows what sort of a reason. Offended I may be, but no not at least apologize for it, at least for such minor offenses. Life can be lonely without people willing to give at least some offense. There is no passion or joy in a world where everyone agrees with you, no matter what my uncle's thoughts on the matter."

Cori opened his mouth to respond to that, but bit back his instinctive response to the idea of passion. He closed his mouth for a moment before finally settling on a quiet, "I suppose so, Mr. Quaxo."

"Now you're just saying that to make me feel better," Mistoffelees said and shrugged to himself. "Let me guess, you have a vendetta against passion as well as dreams, don't you?" He knew very well at that point he was trying to provoke the other—his own lawyer even—but the idea was strangely tempting.

The solicitor's ears lay back at that, "I would hardly call it a vendetta."

"But that means you have a problem with it," Mistoffelees said and finally caught sight of the other's ears, his own flickering. "I'm sorry," he said, suddenly feeling it.

"Don't be." Coricopat willed his ears to return to at least nearly the position they had been in before, "I just don't believe it exists."

"You don't believe in passion?" Mistoffelees asked, and almost sounded awed, but more shocked than that. "Dreamers are fools who cause more harm than any good, and passion does not exist in the world. I just, how do you live like that?"

"I get by. It's better than believing in myths that do no good to anyone," Cori's tail thrashed behind him and his gaze darted toward the door.

"I don't believe you," Mistoffelees said, voice soft. "You're too annoyed, you're reacting too strongly. You just want to believe that, but only god knows why you would attempt to do that to yourself."

"Then let me rephrase. There is no passion that is of any lasting, reciprocated nature in this life. It doesn't exist."

"You know everything of the world then?" Mistoffelees asked. "How can you look at it and say there is no lasting passion? Have you seen all of it? It may be a myth but people have believed in stranger ones, and there's no proof against it happening somewhere in the world just because you have yet to encounter it."

Coricopat's jaw tensed, "Passion is fleeting. No, I've not seen the whole of the world, so perhaps somewhere it does exist, but I have yet to witness a lasting passion of a positive nature."

"Do you ever hope you do?" Mistoffelees found himself asking and knew he was being far too bold and forward, but curious.

Cori's ears flickered back a bit at that, "We've been over my opinion on hoping and dreaming already, Mr. Quaxo."

"I'm deeply offending you, aren't I?" the younger asked, eyes watching the other tom's ears. "I should stop."

"You're not really. I just, would much prefer not to speak on this topic, for I fear I shall end up offending you in some way should it continue," everlasting cat knew he'd managed to hurt Mac when it came up. He really needed to leave before this conversation went any further.

Mistoffelees blinked and shook his head. "You're still a mystery to me. You fear offending me until you do. However," he bit the inside of his lip. "I think I've taken more than enough of your time, and I assume you have other business you must see to. If you feel you must leave, you are of course free to." Not that he wanted the other to, but that was hardly his prerogative.

Coricopat's ears flickered at that as he tried to determine whether lying and saying that he had somewhere he had to be within the next hour or continuing to talk to the black-furred tom was the lesser of two evils. He finally opted for the coward's route and offered Mistoffelees a slight bow, "I really should be going. Good day to you, Mr. Quaxo."

"Good day," he murmured in reply, a little forlornly. "I hope it is agreeable to you."

"And you as well. Take care," the mottled tom slipped out of the library and made a hasty retreat from the townhouse. Mistoffelees watched him go before sinking down in one of the chairs and drawing his legs up to his chest. He really had no idea what he was doing or where any conversation with the lawyer was supposed to go. It seemed they left them insulted with each other and yet he hoped another would appear. Resting his head against his knees, he spend a few moments like that before unfolding and attempting to find something useful to accomplish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of Mistoffelees' many small rebellions against his uncle is totally reading writers like Dickens and Thomas Hardy, who are we kidding? I'm sure he reads the Sherlock Holmes stories too for that matter...


	7. Height of Current Fashion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your authors will always wonder how Macavity survived the Victorian era.

Several nights later, Macavity strolled into a seedy pub on the wrong side of the Thames, feeling confident enough to take on the whole place if anyone questioned him being there. Not that anyone was willing to do such a thing, and the other patrons let him pass without so much of a hint of a bar brawl being on any of their minds. Sliding in his usual table, Macavity ordered a drink before waiting for his usual notorious couple of cats to show up.

Mungojerrie Wheeler slipped into the pub, holding the door for his companion as he scanned the place for the ginger tabby. His hackles rose slightly at the looks a couple of the patrons were sending toward his partner, but he started toward their boss's usual table, keeping a wary eye on the cats around them. Rumpleteazer, his third or fourth cousin on her father's side, followed him not quite rolling her eyes. His insistence of not believing her capable of taking care of the tom's eying her was somewhat sweet, while probably a good deal unnecessary as well. If she couldn't slip away from them, and god only knew how fast she could move, that's what hat pins were for.

They reached Macavity's table, and he nodded to the pair of them. "Just on time," he greeted.

"Wouldn' do t' be late," the torbie tom answered as he pulled out a chair and turned it around to straddle it, resting his crossed arms on the back of it.

Teazer eyed his position, having seen it far too many times to take much note of it—though Macavity was looking a little peeved at it—before gracefully lifting her skirts and settling down into the other chair. "It would be disrespectful after all." Her speech habits were clearer than her cousin's, having been forced by an overbearing father to attend a queen's school for several years before he luckily for the rest of his family fell ill and died. It meant she was usually the one to deal with the contacts, but with Macavity he knew them well enough any front was meaningless.

"You'd never be disrespectful," Macavity grinned at her, well aware the reaction it would get off the male torbie. "I have such high faith in you after all. Now, shall we continue the pleasantries or get down to business?"

Jerrie's ears flicked back at that, his hackles rising again. He knew he shouldn't react in that sort of way, since Teazer didn't show interest of that sort in Macavity, but his instinct was always a show of such. Somehow he kept his tone mostly civil, "Business is what we're 'ere for after all."

"Then business it shall be," Macavity said, not quite kissing Teazer's paw but looking like he was considering such a motion. "I have a job for you, of course or I would not have called you here. I want you to get to Baron Jones' country estate, since the family is all in town and there's at best a skeletal staff of servants."

Teazer's ears flattened, and she shot a half panicked look at her partner. Mungo's ears went completely flat at that, "Y' want us t' get into  _Jones'_  estate? Why not ask us t' just waltz up t' th' 'angman while y' at it?"

"No one's going to know you were there," Macavity replied smoothly. "I hardly expect you to be hanged off this. I have a list of what you're supposed to look for, and any servants and their whereabouts at the house. Most of them live far away from the dining areas where these items will be kept and breaking in should hardly be an issue for cats of your skills."

"Breaking is ain't ever the issue," Teazer said, voice sharp. "It's the insanity of the request that is."

"What she said. This is  _Jones_. It don't matter what sort of information y've got. He'll  _know_  'e was robbed an' it won't be pretty when he figures that out. Even beyond us managin' t' get in an' away how're y' even supposed t' fence something that belongs t' the likes of him?" Jerrie shook his head, "Y're out of y' mind."

"So I've been told many times. Are you refusing the job then?" he asked, tone suddenly dropping into dangerous territory. Teazer for a moment couldn't decide which one scared her more—the Honorable Baron Jones or Macavity Hollister who was giving the pair of them a dark look.

Jerrie hesitated for a long moment, weighing the pros and cons of doing a job against a cat they could possibly escape from if they kept their ears to the ground or refusing the glowering tabby immediately across from them, "We ain't said that. But y' can't expect us t' jump at this job either. Give us a bit t' talk about it an' we'll let y' know?"

"By tonight, I would hope," Macavity said, leaning back into his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Sure thing, boss," Teazer said, pulling on Jerrie's arm and dragging him over to the bar, where she knew the bartender had no inclination of listening in on their conversation. "The hell we doing?"

"Well, th' way I see it we got two options," he replied, glancing toward Macavity and keeping his voice low. "Either we do th' job an' make sure we're listenin' for the slightest hint a Jones lookin' for the cats as did it. Or we go an' tell Macavity 'ere an' now that we ain't doin' it. Even if we do get outta this pub, it'll be difficult to avoid 'im, if we pull off this job though we'll 'ave the funds t' avoid Jones."

"Funds to what, flee to the Americas?" she asked, leaning hard against the wood of the bar.

"Well, y' got another suggestion if Jones does figure out what 'appened an' goes lookin' for the cats as did it?" Jerrie ran a paw through his headfur, knocking his hat off and turning to pick it up, dusting it off against the knee of his trousers.

She smiled fondly at that motion, reaching over to pluck the hat from his paws before settling it back on his head. "You gotta pay more attention to what you're wearing, Jer. Alright, but what the hell we'd do in America?" She had this image of them with no contacts and thus no jobs, Jer playing his fiddle on the street corner for change before they had to pawn it, and her stuck doing the washing for some old rich lady. Some days Teazer loathed her imagination. "We can't say no to Maca's face, we know that, and we don't have the funds to run from him. That mean we're doing it?"

The tom offered her a flickering smile as she adjusted his hat, "Thanks. We ain't got another choice about th' job though. We've th' Thames at our front an' th' hounds at our back. We're gonna 'ave t' do it. Who knows, mebbe we'll be able t' get away with this without it actually bein' noticed for a good long while?" He offered her a hopeful glance.

"And then the sun will rise on the wrong side of the world and a chicken will give birth to a hound," she said, shaking her head. "I'm all for hope here though, who are we kidding? Alright, should we go tell him we're doing it then?"

Jerrie sighed before nodding, "Yeah, we'd better." He lead the way back to the table, taking his seat again quietly.

"So, any decisions?" Macavity drawled, arms still crossed over his chest.

Teazer nodded. "Yeah. You put us right in a rock and hard place, you know that? Of course you know that. Yeah, we'll do the job. You said you had the details for us?"

He nodded, handing her a folded sheet of paper, well aware of the two she was the one that was able to read and thus understand said instructions. "Here. Dates are on it, as well as the next meeting time and place. Try not to get picked up be the police." Nodding to the pair of them he put his hat back on and rose, paying the bartender on the way out.

Jerrie watched him go before sighing again and resting his chin on his crossed arms. He nodded slightly to the instructions, "We lookin' at that now or later?"

"Now," she replied, having opened the paper and slowly made her way through the main points. "Better now than later. Besides, in some ways better to get this whole mess over with as fast as possible."

"What sortta things are we goin' after an' when's our best chance? An' did 'e at least give us an' idea of th' rooms this time?"

"It's a pretty rough sketch," she replied, handing that sheet of paper to him. "Middle of the night it looks like. Or rather, between the middle of the night and dawn. Window will be the best bet for sure."

Jerrie considered the sketch, committing it to memory. He nodded slightly, "'E jus' wanted stuff from th' dinin' area? If so, our best bet's this window 'ere." He tapped a claw on the mark indicating the window nearest where most houses kept their silver.

She nodded. "Looks like. A few days to prepare but we really gotta do this as soon as possible. 'Sides, the quicker we get those funds to flee the better I'll feel."

"We'll get it. This is a good day's trip out ain't it?" the torbie tom tried to remember where he recalled hearing that Lord Jones kept his estate.

She nodded. "Half day. He likes sticking close it seems to his seat of power in London. If we ride horses it should take even a little less. Honestly I'd rather not deal with any sort of carriage anyway."

"Carriage'll jus' get in th' way," he agreed. "We'll head out in two days, 'bout noon. That'll give us time t' get there an' be settled for a day. Travel as siblin's. No one'll think a us right off in that case 'round 'ere."

v.v.v.v

Victoria made her way quietly down the stairs to join the family for breakfast. She was considering begging a headache, but since she grew ill or faint so rarely she didn't think she could get away with it. The white queen desperately did not wish to face her father after his news to her the night before. Hesitating to gather her wits and will about her, she finally pushed open the door to the dining room, her skirts rustling softly as she moved over to the table, already set for the morning meal.

Her older cousin entered a few moments later, not looking pleased to be awake for the morning though he was dressed impeccably with no plans for the day. Sitting down at his place, he glanced over at her. "Good morning, Cousin. How does this day treat you?"

She offered him a slight smile, "Good morning, Cousin. It finds me quite well this morning. And you?"

He inclined his head. "As well as can be expected for a day in which I have no plans."

"There are certainly worse days than to have one all to yourself, or at least without any pre-arranged plans for it," his cousin remarked quietly.

He nodded. "There are. It doesn't mean it's a terribly pleasing situation but there certainly are."

Victoria spared a brief glance for the mantle clock, surprised that her aunt wasn't there yet. Serafine was usually at the breakfast table not long after the younger queen, "Do you have any idea what you might do with your day with no plans?"

He shook his head as Jones entered, sitting at the table without greeting either of them. Victoria glanced toward her father, but remained silent as one of the servants entered with a note from Sera begging a headache and apologizing for being unable to join them that morning.

Jones arched his brow and then didn't make any other comment, looking up at them and back to his food as the servant's brought it out.

Mistoffelees glanced at his cousin, unsure what to say with his uncle in the room. Victoria waited for several minutes before finally speaking, "Father?"

"Yes?" he asked, turning toward her.

"I was hoping to go shopping today, but as Aunt Sera seems unable to go I was wondering if I might ask my cousin to act as my escort?" She glanced at Misto so that the question was directed at him as well.

He blinked in surprise but nodded his head slightly to show he wouldn't mind. Jones meanwhile arched his brows, glancing over at Mistoffelees in some shock before he shrugged. "You may do as you like, so long as he would do such a thing."

Mistoffelees' ear flickered at the implied insult but he nodded. "I would certainly not mind being your escort," he told Victoria.

"Thank you, Father." She met her cousin's eyes, "Thank you, Cousin."

"Of course," Mistoffelees murmured and Jones just grunted before going back to his food. For a while they ate in silence before Jones looked up again.

"Mistoffelees," he said in his low voice. "Have you given any more thought to what you shall do now that you're home?"

The smaller tom swallowed. "I am still looking at options." Jones looked less than pleased by that.

Victoria glanced between the two toms, but remained silent recalling her own conversation with her father as regarded her future the night before.

"I have done everything possible to imply what I would prefer, have I not?" Jones asked.

Biting the inside of his lip, Mistoffelees nodded. "Yes, Sir. But it would be a while before I could even hope to run for Parliament and in the meantime I would like to look at other options." Like running away.

Jones made a sound in the back of his throat and nodded, returning to his food again. The rest of the meal passed in a tense silence.

Victoria finished her meal, quietly excusing herself to get ready for a day in town. She paused outside her aunt's door, having a feeling that the older queen wasn't actually suffering from a headache, but decided she would speak with her later and continued up to her own room.

Mistoffelees slipped off himself as quickly as he could, leaving his uncle to finish his much larger breakfast, getting what he needed and waiting for Victoria in the foyer of the townhouse.

The white queen descended the stairs a short time later, her blue skirts just brushing the floor as she made her way over to her cousin, "Shall we?"

He offered her his arm with a faint smile. "Whenever you like."

She took the arm, returning the smile, "Then I think we shall."

"Do you want the carriage or shall we walk?" he asked, picking up an umbrella on his way to the door. "It's a beautiful day after all."

"I think a walk might do us good. And as you say, it's a lovely day," her tone was subdued.

He frowned slightly at her, and walked out with the umbrella despite the sun. "Where were you planning on going?" he asked.

"I need to stop by the hatmaker's, and I need to place a couple of orders with the dressmaker," she almost hesitated over the idea of the dressmaker.

He nodded. "Alright. I'm sure I can find something to entertain myself with while you're doing that."

"Thank you, Mistoffelees."

"Well, as I said, I had nothing to do. It gets me out and gives me something to do, so it seems as much a favor for me as it is for you," he replied with a smile that was looking less strained the further they were from the town house.

She offered him another faint smile, "Nevertheless, I do appreciate it."

He smiled. "You're welcome then. It's a surprisingly nice day to be out and about."

"It really is. And it's good company to be in as well. I should probably stop by the glove-maker's as well," she mused.

"I probably could do with a new pair of gloves," he said. "So, quite the shopping trip planned for today didn't you?"

"I suppose so. It wasn't supposed to be this extensive, but I need to place a couple of orders."

"Well, no worries for my time," he said. "If it takes long enough we could even add lunch out."

"It likely will. I'll need to speak to Aunt Sera when we return home about fabrics, but I do expect to be out for at least most of the morning."

He arched a brow and then nodded. "You seem to get along with her well," he said, voice a bit neutral.

Victoria nodded slightly, "She's kind. And I don't remember my own mother, so I suppose one might say that she's filled that role for me."

He paused and nodded, a little unsure what to make of his mother filling the role of mother for someone else when they were so distant. "I'm glad then," he managed not sure he believed it.

His cousin glanced at him, "She's proud of you, you know?"

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Excuse me?"

"Aunt Sera. She's proud of you, and cares about you a lot. Growing up I heard about you far more than I ever saw you."

He looked a little more than shocked by that. "Oh. I, oh. I'm glad?" he offered quietly. "I suppose I never came home much did I?"

"You didn't have much opportunity to I suppose," she replied quietly.

"I," he hesitated. "There were a few I didn't take, due to being offered different opportunities to see places." Most he just decided to stay at the school rather than come home, even though he could have. He'd never thought to feel guilty about that.

She nodded, "It sounds like it would have been a good choice to travel."

He smiled faintly. "Yes, travel is amazing when one has the chance."

"What was your favorite place to go?" She glanced at him.

"Well, there a lot of beautiful places," he said, aware most of his answers would consist of "ruins." "Ireland is beautiful as are parts of France and Spain. Italy is considered one of the best destinations of course, but I think I preferred Scotland and Germany the most."

Victoria smiled wistfully, "It sounds like it would have been a delight to travel around Europe and the Isles."

"It was," he said softly, wishing he could say he would take her. "Perhaps your husband will also like to travel?"

"I-I don't know." She looked away, "From what I've heard of him he's looking to ground himself in politics here."

Mistoffelees just about stopped as that sentence penetrated his mind. "Wait, you are engaged already?" he asked, shocked.

The white queen nodded very slightly, "Father told me last night."

"That, I, oh," he managed, mind still floundering. "Who is he?"

"Plato Philipson," her voice was barely audible.

Mistoffelees froze again, his entire spine tensing and his ears going all but flat. "Plato Philipson?" he asked, as if he was hoping that he'd heard wrong.

She nodded, keeping her gaze focused on the sidewalk, "He...is of good family and has m-much promise."

"He..." Mistoffelees floundered again. "He is of good family," he managed, trying to bite back everything he wanted to say about the tom that called himself Mistoffelees' friend.

"Do you know him?"

"He was a classmate of mine," Mistoffelees replied, finally getting his voice to actually do what he asked it to. "He is a cousin of a good friend of mine, Tumblebrutus. I would see him very often. We traveled together sometimes."

"What...what do you think of him?" Her question was timid.

"He," Mistoffelees paused, swallowing, trying to figure out what he could actually say. "He is very intelligent," he said. "Well, he can usually be. He's rich, and will give you a very comfortable life."

She sighed, "That doesn't really tell me much."

His paws twisted around his umbrella. "Well, we see each other a lot. It doesn't mean we are particularly close." Which was a flat out lie, but he couldn't bring himself to tell Victoria much about Plato.

His cousin nodded very slightly as they finally reached the hatmaker's, "I suppose I will find out in time..."

He nodded. "In time," he said, voice faint and perhaps just a little frightened as well. She offered him a faint smile before stepping into the shop.

He followed her, tucking the umbrella under his arm. As she talked to the shop keeper at the counter, he looked over the gentlemen's hats on display.

Victoria moved quietly over to his side after several minutes, her gaze moving to the display, "Some of those are quite dashing."

He'd picked one up and was considering it. Glancing over at her, he smiled faintly. "You think so? Which ones?"

"The one you're holding for one," she reached over and picked up another one, carefully, "This one for another."

Smiling faintly, he considered the other hat. "I think that one is certainly a few degrees too dashing for me. Pounce, perhaps, but not me."

She smiled slightly, considering it, "Perhaps, but I think you might well find it suits you. Though the one in your paws might suit you better."

He glanced down and turned it over again. "Really? I'm sure my uncle would throw me out if he saw it."

"It's the height of current fashion," she replied.

Turning it over again, he smiled. "Well, if advised by a lady, how could one refuse?"

A soft blush colored her cheeks, "Besides, as the height of fashion, Father can hardly throw you out for wearing it. Even if he doesn't approve of it."

"I've never been very good at getting his approval," Mistoffelees said and blanched. "I mean, that is," he really hadn't meant to say that aloud.

"I don't know that anyone is," Victoria responded quietly.

Mistoffelees blinked at her and smiled faintly. "We try our hardest, hm?"

"There isn't much more than that which we can do, after all." She offered him a faint smile, "He does sometimes have moments where he isn't as inclined to be disapproving of the world in general."

"If you find one of those moments," Mistoffelees said. "Do tell me so I can take advantage would you?"

"I shall try to do so. They haven't been as frequent in recent years."

"Anything happen or is he just becoming more disapproving in his old age?"

"I'm not really certain," she murmured, "I wish I knew."

He sighed and nodded. "We get by as best we can then. Are you finished here?"

She nodded very slightly, "Yes, I am."

"Let me see about purchasing this and then shall we move on?"

"I think that sounds like an excellent idea. The glove-makers is the nearest shop from here."

He nodded, going up to the counter to purchase the hat before putting the box under the same arm with the umbrella and following her out of the shop and down the street.

v.v.v.v.

Victoria stepped into the small restaurant, glancing at her cousin as a waiter showed them to a table. The trip to the dressmaker's had been informative, she had a prediction for how long the dress would take and she would speak with her aunt about fabrics for it that night. Looking around the restaurant she reminded herself to relax, to not think too much about the engagement and instead to enjoy the afternoon with her cousin.

He offered her a smile as they sat down. "Have you enjoyed the afternoon?" he asked softly, feeling despite his smile that she was pre-occupied and he was trying not to think about Plato either.

She returned the smile, "I have. Thank you for agreeing to act as my escort."

"If you have need of my services again, you may ask for them," he said. "I've enjoyed it as well." He turned to glance down at the menu just as the door suddenly slammed open.

Macavity stalked in, the door slamming shut as quickly as it had opened. He scanned the place, settling on the small table toward the back, one of the few open which was next to a table occupied by a black tom and white queen. He stormed over before the waiter could either escort him or deny him the table.

Victoria looked up in alarm at that, her gaze following the ginger tabby as he made his way over to the table next to theirs.

Coricopat entered seconds later, the door opening and closing much more quietly to allow him passage. He glanced around the restaurant murmuring an apology to the waiter as he stepped past him and made his way over to where his partner was seated. He slid into the chair across from him, frowning, "Mac..."

Macavity managed not to growl in response, flipping open the menu he'd picked up on his way over and putting it up over his face to block out Coricopat.

On the table next to them, Mistoffelees blinked and blinked again, recognizing Coricopat but shocked to silence for the moment at the other's companion.

Cori's ears lay back slightly, murmuring, "Macavity. You're being unreasonable and we both know it." He registered motion out of the corner of his eye and turned to apologize to the cats at the next table, freezing when he saw Mistoffelees. After another moment of hesitation he finally spoke, glancing from one young cat to the other, "Mr. Quaxo, I do crave your pardon if we've disturbed you."

Macavity had moved the menu down to reply, and his eyes snapped over at the mention of the black tom's name, suddenly placing him and considering him with a long stare.

Mistoffelees was unsure what to do with the lawyer and less sure what to do with the ginger tabby looking like he wanted to dissect Mistoffelees and see what his insides looked like. "It's no bother, Mr. Zimmerman," he replied finally. "I am surprised to see you, but not badly so. How does today find you?" he asked, awkwardly.

Cori caught the look from Mac and kicked him under the table, offering Mistoffelees a cordial smile, "Today finds me quite well. And yourself?"

Victoria glanced between the three toms, but remained quiet simply watching.

"Well enough," Mistoffelees said and glanced over at his cousin. "Oh, Mr. Zimmerman, my cousin, Victoria Jones. Victoria, this is Mr. Zimmerman, and, um, his companion?" he offered, as Macavity ignored the kick and continued staring at Mistoffelees before finally turning his gaze to the white queen.

Victoria offered Coricopat a slight smile, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Zimmerman."

"The pleasure is mine, Miss Jones. If I might introduce my partner, Macavity Hollister. Macavity, this is Mr. Quaxo and Miss Jones," his tone held a hint of what his friend might well recognize as his "behave" tone.

Macavity's eyes flickered over to Coricopat and reached across the space between the two tables to lift Victoria's paw, kissing the back of it. "A pleasure to meet you," he murmured, nodding to Mistoffelees who looked less than pleased.

Victoria looked taken aback, a blush tinting her cheeks, "The pleasure is mine, sir."

Coricopat's ears lay back and he kicked Macavity again, really hoping to leave a bruise. Not even looking like he felt the kick, Macavity grinned at the blush, glancing back over at her cousin before back to her. "I'm glad to hear that," he murmured, voice smooth. It was one of the few times it became obvious he was related to Tugger. "How does today find a maiden as fair as you."

Mistoffelees opened his mouth and closed it, unsure whether he should say something or not. His eyes flickered over to the mottled tom that sat beside him at the other table.

"I-I...Quite well, sir, thank you. And you?" She managed to remember her manners, but was completely thrown off-kilter by the tabby.

Cori glanced at Mistoffelees, biting the inside of his lip as he tried to figure out the most graceful way to drag his partner out of there by his ear.

Arching his brow, Mistoffelees considered before leaning over slightly and murmuring quietly. "Is he always like that?"

Macavity didn't even hear the question, focused on the white queen for the moment. "Today finds me getting quite a bit better by the moment. The clouds of earlier events are flying away over the horizon, chased by a clear wind."

The mottled tom looked toward his partner and shook his head slightly, "Not always, but it depends on what you mean by 'that'."

Victoria dropped her gaze, her cheeks coloring again, "That's rather poetic, sir."

Macavity grinned and Mistoffelees frowned severely at him. "I can be quite the poet on occasion. But usually I need a muse to raise me to such heights."

"That," Mistoffelees replied. "What he's saying right now."

"No," Cori shook his head again, "I haven't heard him like that in a while."

The blush on Victoria's cheeks deepened, "You seem to find inspiration rather easily, sir."

"I'm not sure if I find that reassuring or not," Mistoffelees said glancing at Coricopat out of the corner of his eyes. "Well, at any rate, how does today find yourself?"

Macavity's grin became possible more suave. "Well, I have a very distinguished muse."

"Quite well, thank you. How have you been of late, Mr. Quaxo?" Coricopat replied, trying to ignore his partner.

Victoria kept her gaze averted, though a faint smile tugged at her lips, "You speak rashly, sir."

"Perhaps so," Macavity agreed. "But I find honestly can sometimes be both the best path and the most dangerous. Which would you consider it?"

Mistoffelees tuned out Macavity for a moment, offering Coricopat a smile. "Today finds me mostly well. Of late not much of note has been happening." He paused. "Have you spoken to my uncle recently?"

"Honesty is a very dangerous thing, Mr. Hollister. There is much that can go wrong with it," the young queen responded.

"No, we haven't heard from your uncle in some time," the lawyer answered. "Not since my last meeting with him at least."

"But is it not better to be truthful, and let the world ring true?" he asked. "Are we not commanded by god himself to tell no lies?"

Mistoffelees bit the inside of his lip. "Oh." He'd wondered if the lawyers at least had heard of the engagement. If they hadn't then it could not be official yet. He might still talk to his uncle.

"God may approve of honesty, but society does not. God will forgive a misstep, but the cats around us likely wouldn't," Vitoria rejoined.

"Why do you ask?" Cori studied the younger tom.

"Oh," Mistoffelees glanced away in time to hear Victoria's last comment. His gaze went back to Coricopat for a moment. "I was just curious. I hear so little after all," he said and turned back to Victoria and Macavity.

Macavity was still grinning. "Society may disapprove of honesty, but the best of men don't care what society thinks of them. Those who are remembered are the ones who swim against the current."

"The martyrs swim against the current," Mistoffelees added, giving Macavity a long look. "If you're proposing to be one of them, I wish you luck. Honesty," he spared another look at Coricopat. "Is shocking in our society. You might want to be careful with it."

Coricopat glanced between the other three again and checked his watch, rising, "Macavity, it's time we were back at work."

"No it's not," Macavity said, motioning for his partner to sit back down. He didn't take his eyes off Mistoffelees where they had snapped when he spoke. "So, you believe one must be careful to be honest."

Mistoffelees glanced between Coricopat and Macavity before nodding. "Honesty is dangerous in our society. You might want to be careful who you are honest around."

"Are you someone it's dangerous to be honest around?" Macavity asked. "You seem to not mind it from certain corners."

Mistoffelees' ears laid flat and he looked back at Coricopat. "I am but one cat," he replied. "We are in a public place after all, and they tend to have ears."

Coricopat didn't sit down, "If we're to be back in the office on time we need to be leaving, Mac."

Victoria looked from one tom to the next, knowing there was some part of this conversation that she was missing entirely.

"We'll be fine," Macavity replied, still not looking at his partner. "After all, we came here to eat. So then, Mr. Quaxo-"

"I am not sure I have given you permission to address me as such," Mistoffelees snapped, his spine up around the other.

Macavity arched a brow. "Would you prefer I call you sir?"

Mistoffelees' ears went flat again. "No."

"Then how is one supposed to address you?" Macavity asked, crossing his paws under his chin. "Surely you would not be so informal as to use your Christian name? If you're not sir, and you're not Mr. Quaxo, then who are you?"

"Macavity," Coricopat managed from between gritted teeth. "We should be going before you make more of a fool of yourself."

"I may make a fool of myself, but he hasn't answered the question yet," Macavity said.

Mistoffelees' ears swiveled around. "I do not have to answer you."

"It's a simple question," Macavity protested. "After all, I'm to know my place, am I not?"

"Macavity Hollister, leave it alone. Come on." Cori growled lowly.

"But," Macavity protested. "Since we are the sir's law firm," Mistoffelees' ears went back. "I feel it is important to know how to address someone I may be working with."

"If you ever have to work for me," Mistoffelees said, emphasizing the 'for.' "Then we may discuss it then. Until such a time perhaps it is better you not address me at all."

"Isn't that a little harsh?" Macavity asked.

"Perhaps," Mistoffelees said.

"Alright, now that that has been decided, Macavity we need to be leaving," Coricopat said quickly.

Victoria glanced toward her cousin, but remained silent.

"If you insist," Macavity said finally, taking his eyes off Mistoffelees. He tipped his hat to the glowering black tom and kissed Victoria's paw again.

Victoria blushed again as Coricopat tipped his hat to them, murmuring a quiet good bye and an even quieter apology before heading for the door. Mistoffelees murmured an accepted apology and watched as Coricopat left.

Coricopat waited for Macavity just outside the door, offering his partner a scowl before starting back toward the law office.

"What?" Macavity asked. "He's an interesting figure."

Cori eyed his friend for a moment, "I have a sudden urge to hit you until you bleed, Macavity."

Macavity blinked at him a moment and burst out laughing. "Oh, come now Cor. Whatever for?"

"What for? Let's start with your flirtation with the Baron Jones' daughter and end with the fact that you were a complete ass."

"I was curious. Besides, he seemed interested in honest opinions, though he didn't much like them. I was hardly an ass. Besides, it was just flirting."

"Just flirting? Her father's our client!"

"She didn't seem to mind," Macavity replied.

"Macavity, have you not a shred of decency?" Cori asked as he entered the office, shrugging out of his coat and hanging both it and his hat up.

"No more than you do," Macavity said, voice smooth.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh come on, Cor, how long have I known you?" Macavity asked, sitting down. "You are only honest around one type of person. And falling in love with your client's nephew is far worse than flirting with his daughter."

Coricopat paled, "I am not falling in love with him."

"Then what are you doing?" Macavity asked.

"What do you mean? Nothing." The mottled tom settled at his desk.

"Don't try that on me," Macavity said, shaking his head. "I know you too well, remember? Besides, you're acting exactly like you did ten years ago. Oh, and by the way, the next time you saw the kit, did you remember that whole tried and true bit or did that go flying out the damn window?"

"T-ten years ago?" The mottled tom's ears lay back at that, "That's not happening again, Mac. And which time?"

"The last time you saw him," Macavity said. "How did that go?"

"He returned my umbrella. Nothing more," That might have passed for the truth with anycat else, but there was just a little bit of a tremor in Coricopat's voice.

"Right," Macavity stated, clearly not believing it. "And you're not doing the same thing you did ten years ago then?"

"I wouldn't repeat that for anything, Mac."

"Then what the hell do you think you're doing?" Macavity demanded again.

Coricopat's ears flattened, "I don't know. I-I'm not in love with him, I can't be."

"Can't be? That's gonna do you a lot of good," Macavity said, shaking his head. "Come on, Cor. You're you. You get in deep, and you get in fast."

Cori drew a shaky breath at that, "This can't be happening. It _isn't_  happening."

"Denying that is going to help?" Macavity asked. "Until what, something goes wrong?"

"How could something possibly go wrong that hasn't already?" His partner looked up at him, his grey eyes holding an expression that seemed to be nearing panic.

"You let it slip around him?" Macavity asked. "Remember that pesky habit of bein' honest you have?"

Cori ran shaky hands through his headfur, "I can't do this."

Macavity arched a brow, and now that he'd gotten Cori to admit what was going on, backed off, his voice softening. "Then what are you goin' to do?"

"I-I, God, I don't know. I can't continue to work with Jones' estate."

Macavity blinked and nodded. "Which hardly answers the question of what to do."

"I...I'll take the Smith case? I can talk to Bailey and then introduce you to Jones in three days time?"

The ginger tabby didn't look thrilled by that, but he nodded. "Alright. You get Smith then."

Cori breathed a soft sigh, "Thank you, Mac."

Another nod greeted that. "I prefer that than you doing somethin' stupid." His accent had slipped during the conversation, as it sometimes did when he was distressed or focused.

"I don't even know how it happened..."

Macavity shrugged. "Does anyone ever know? I don't see the appeal but hey, I don't think he much liked me."

"This wasn't supposed to happen again," the other tom murmured.

Macavity considered him and sighed softly. "No, it wasn't."

"Where did I go wrong? I've done everything I can to avoid this happening again. Or I thought I did."

"I don't know, when did you start babbling around him?"

"First or second encounter. I think the second," the mottled tom buried his head in his paws.

Macavity blinked. "That was rather abrupt. What did he do to warrant that?"

"I-I...I don't recall."

"Didn't you manage to keep insulting him?" Mac asked, quietly.

"S-something like that."

"Well, on the other hand, it's unlikely he returns any such feelings?" Macavity offered.

Cori swallowed hard, "I hope so."

"So, at least you're not in danger from doing anything stupid," Macavity pointed out.

"That's true. Well, either way...we need to get some work done."

Macavity nodded, already turning to his own files.

v.v.v.v.

Victoria watched the two solicitors leave before she turned to her cousin, still feeling a bit disoriented by the entire exchange, "Mistoffelees?"

The black tom finally pulled his gaze away from the door. "Yes?"

"What was that?"

"I am not entirely sure," he managed.

"H-he was rather...forward."

"I have never met him before," Mistoffelees managed. "Though I have worked with his partner in the past, Mr. Zimmerman. I really do not know." He suspected Zimmerman of talking to the other cat of past conversations and was deeply uncomfortable with the thought.

"And what of Mr. Zimmerman? He...seemed almost as uncomfortable with the situation as you did, cousin."

"What situation? His partner running his mouth off?"

"Yes, I suppose that one."

"I am not sure. I mean, I hardly know him that well. He's an interesting character, especially for a lawyer," Mistoffelees replied, looking away from his cousin.

"Oh? How so?" she inquired.

"He's honest, despite what that conversation implied," Mistoffelees answered. "He never seems to know when to stop talking."

Victoria's brows rose at that, "That is interesting, I never would have guessed that."

Mistoffelees frowned slightly. "As far as I can tell he's fairly successful with rich clients, including our uncle. Which seems to mean he only is like that around certain people. I really don't understand him."

"Well, that is intriguing."

"Oh?" Mistoffelees asked, suddenly curious what another would think of the mottled tom.

"Well, I haven't spoken with him myself so I can hardly speak definitively, but he seemed a cat rather aware of society's standards and so to think of him, even selectively, saying what he thinks is an interesting idea."

Mistoffelees rested his chin in his paw. "I wonder what his criteria is, and how I meet it," he mused as a waiter finally hesitantly approached their corner.

Her gaze swept over her cousin, arching an eyebrow at that, but placed her order with the waiter quietly. He ordered as well, expression still a bit distant, considering.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"Just the same as before," he said, shrugging. "I'm just curious why me. I'm sure he'd never talked that way to anyone else he works for, since he's still in work."

She shrugged very slightly, "You're far more approachable than many in our set."

"I'm not sure that's a good trait in our set," he said, smiling wryly.

"There are worse things," she offered him a faint smile.

"Of course there are," he said, looking down.

"Is everything alright, Cousin?"

"I'm sorry," he said automatically. "That conversation put me on edge."

"It was rather...abrupt," she replied.

"That might be the kindest thing to say of it," he said, shaking his head slightly.

"It was an interesting conversation, I have to admit."

"Did you like Mr. Hollister?" Mistoffelees asked.

"I found him to be very forward, but very flattering as well. I'm not entirely certain what I think of that," Victoria answered quietly.

Mistoffelees nodded. "Probably best not to," he murmured.

"To think of it? Probably."

Glancing away again, Mistoffelees fell silent, still turning things over in his mind.


	8. Insult to the Name

That evening, after seeing Victoria back to the house and sitting in the library for a couple hours, Mistoffelees approached his uncle's study. No formal announcement of the engagement, and no contact with the lawyers meant that it was at best an agreement between his uncle and Plato. It meant he might have a hope of changing his uncle's mind.

Knocking on that door, he entered when called, not paying quite as much attention to the half empty bourbon bottle on the desk as he should have. "Uncle," he greeted, mouth going a little dry.

Jones gave him a long look and nodded. "Mistoffelees. What do you want?"

Swallowing again, Mistoffelees approached the large oak desk slowly. "I wished to discuss a matter with you. Victoria told me today you were considering engaging her to Plato Philipson-"

"There is no consideration," Jones replied hotly. "The matter has already been arranged, and we are only waiting to contact a lawyer to being the process."

"Sir," Mistoffelees said, trying to keep his voice even. "If I may, I know Plato well. We have been school mates together for years. I do not think this is a good match."

He missed how cold Jones' eyes suddenly went, and was too far to smell the amount of alcohol on his breath. "Excuse me?" Jones demanded.

"Plato will not make her a good husband," Mistoffelees pressed. "There are many other toms of good repute and as much wealth that would make her a much better-"

"What makes you think I could even begin to care for your opinion on this matter?" Jones asked and Mistoffelees drew back slightly, becoming somewhat more aware of the other. "You think I care for any of your thoughts? You think you matter at all?"

"Sir, I," Mistoffelees started again.

"This match is not your concern. Someday, you may well rule this house. Until that day you will know your place or I'll make sure you have none at all, you bastard brat of a low class."

Mistoffelees' ears went flat. "Sir-"

"You will only speak to me when given permission!" Jones thundered, rising. Mistoffelees, who was only two inches shorter than his uncle but a good deal more slender, shrank back at that, taking a half step toward the door. "The only reason you have any hope to a title is the fact that my wife had the misfortune to die before giving me a son. Your cousin's affairs are mine, and mine alone, and you shall never bring this matter up again."

"But," Mistoffelees tried weakly and realized he should have just left. He took another step toward the door.

"You will only leave with my premission!" Jones yelled again and Mistoffelees froze in confusion. "You are a disgrace to the name of Jones," the fatter tom continued. "I would like nothing better to have left you on the street and have you beg for scraps, as you deserve."

"As I-" Mistoffelees snarled in anger. "I'm the disgrace? Me? Have you looked at yourself? You swagger around as if you own everything and you're a Baron! You're not a king, or a duke, you're not even a count! You're the lowest lord the realm knows and you expect me to bow and scrape to you? You? A disgusting old man who couldn't even produce a son? That's something my father will have always done better than you and that just stings doesn't it?" His eyes widened as he realized what he said. He opened his mouth and closed it, trying to form and apology.

Jones had gone completely still when his nephew had started speaking.

"Sir, I-I, I'm sorr-" Mistoffelees attempted.

Jones suddenly reached across the desk and hurled the half empty bottle of burbon at Mistoffelees' head. Taking that as permission to leave, Mistoffelees turn and ran, not trusting his uncle not to follow him. Leaving the house, he'd gotten half way down the street before he formed any sort of a plan.

v.v.v.v.

Victoria knocked softly on the door to her aunt's boudoir, waiting until she heard the familiar voice call for her to enter. Stepping inside, the younger queen made her way over to settle in the chair Serafine motioned her to. Of all the rooms in the house, including her own, the white queen had always felt most comfortable in the boudoir. Sera had made it her private retreat and her touch was visible everywhere, from the lace curtains held back by dark green ties to the floral pattern in the upholstery. Sera offered her niece a slight smile, "How are you this evening, my dear?"

"I…am doing well enough, Aunt. I hope you're feeling better than you were this morning?"

"Much. Thank you. I am sorry I wasn't able to go out with you today."

The younger cat smiled faintly, "That's quite alright, Mistoffelees acted as my escort."

"I'm glad to hear it. Now, what brings you here, Victoria?"

"I, well, I need your advice on fabrics," the white queen answered, smoothing a paw over her skirts.

Sera smiled softly, "You know nearly as much about appropriate fabrics as I do. Is there something else?"

"I know about a lot of fabrics, yes, but not what would be appropriate for a wedding gown," came the murmured response.

The tuxedo queen paled at that, though her fur concealed most of it, "A wedding gown? You're to be married?"

Her niece nodded, "Father told me last night."

"Who is the fortunate young tom?"

"His name's Plato Philipson. He's an old schoolmate of Mistoffelees'. I think I've only met him a pawful of times."

"Oh, my dear." Sera sighed, "If there is anything I can do to help you name it."

"I…can't think of anything. I just don't know anything about him, and very little of his family."

"I can't say I do either, but I can see what I can find out. As to the fabric you wear, we shall have to look into that, and the color. We want every possible bit of luck granted to you in this."

Victoria offered her aunt a soft smile, "Thank you, Aunt."

"Of course, my dear." She startled as she heard the front door slam. Glancing at her niece, she rose, "Wait here. I'll return shortly." Before Victoria could form a response, Sera had swept from the room.

The butler met her at the bottom of the stairs. "Do not concern yourself, my lady."

She arched an eyebrow at that, "What has occurred?"

"I believe Mr. Quaxo has left for the night," the butler replied with a straight face, having also been forced to call the black tom by Mr. Quaxo rather than Sir.

"That did not answer my question," she responded almost icily.

He shrugged. "I am not sure why he left, but he did not appear like he would be back tonight. I would save your questions for the morning."

"Where did he come from before leaving the house?" Sera asked, firmly.

The Butler paused. "I believe it was your brother's study," he admitted finally.

She pursed her lips, nodding slightly, "Thank you. Should Mr. Quaxo return tonight do let me know."

The Butler nodded. "I shall be sure to."

The lady of the house inclined her head and then made her way, quietly to her brother's study, knocking softly on the door.

A faint roar could be heard, and a demand to be left alone.

She frowned at the door and knocked again, "Bustopher?"

The demand was repeated a bit louder.

Her ears went back and she shook her head, weighing the pros and cons of retreating. She knocked a third time, if instructed to leave again she would, "Is everything alright, brother?"

"Beside your mutt bastard of an offspring?" Jones demanded from the other side of the door.

"What happened, Bustopher?" Her voice was just loud enough to be heard through the door.

"He's an insult to the name!"

Her ears laced at that, "I see."

"Now would all of my family leave me in peace?" Jones demanded.

"Of course. Good evening, brother."

Something was muttered but it was hard to hear from the other side of the door.

Sera shook her head, but retreated to her boudoir, startling slightly at the sight of her niece there. She'd forgotten she'd told the younger queen to wait for her. Settling down in her preferred chair she answered the white queen's inquiring look, "Your cousin has apparently left for the night."

Victoria frowned very slightly at that, "The door slamming was Mistoffelees? That doesn't seem much like him."

"It's entirely possible that he didn't realize the door would close with such force. The butler said that he'd come from your father's study."

Glancing at the clock and considering her father's nearly nightly pattern, the white queen sighed, "Doesn't he know not to approach Father at this hour?"

"He hasn't been home for that long, Victoria. He's still learning the patterns around here."

"I suppose so. Aunt Sera, do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"You certainly may, but I may choose not to answer it."

Victoria inclined her head in acknowledgement of that, "Why are you avoiding him?"

Serafine looked taken aback at that, "Whatever do you mean?"

"I mean," her niece began carefully, "that you spent less time in your boudoir with headaches before Mistoffelees arrived. I just don't understand it."

"I-I, that is, we, I just," Sera sighed, "I don't know what to say to him. How to act around him. He's my son but he's a complete stranger."

"But, I beg your pardon, isn't the best way to change that to spend time with someone, rather than avoid them? That is how best to get to know someone, right?"

Serafine sighed again, "It also means that both parties wish to get to know one another."

"You never know until you try though."

"I'll consider it," the older queen finally granted before turning the conversation to other things.

v.v.v.v.

Having considered his options once slowing down, Mistoffelees finally reached a decision that did not involve going home that night. Knocking on the door in front of him before he could think better of it, he settled back on his heels to wait.

Coricopat startled at a knock on his door, setting his book aside and getting to his feet. He really wasn't dressed for visitors, wearing his housecoat over his shirtsleeves and slacks. He hesitated for a moment before finally answering the door, "Yes, what is-Mr. Quaxo?"

Mistoffelees froze, ears going back slightly. He'd completely missed grabbing a hat on his way out. "This seemed like a good idea until you opened the door," he murmured.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" the mottled tom managed to stammer out.

"I may have gotten kicked out for the night," he said, voice strained. "And you're the only one I know who doesn't move in the same circle of my uncle and inform him I showed up there-I mean, I think you wouldn't tell him, and you don't have a ton of servants as far as I know that would have the gossip all over the town in mere hours."

Cori tried to get his brain to actually function again. He swallowed and then nodded, stepping aside to let the other in, "No, I wouldn't mention it and no, I don't have any servants. Come in, if you like."

"I," Mistoffelees flailed. "I'm imposing, this was a bad idea, and you really don't need to deal with this. I can, I can go."

"It's no imposition," alright that was a lie. "I have a spare room you can stay in tonight, if you need it."

Mistoffelees' ears flickered, and he finally entered the house, shoulders hunched. "Thank you."

The solicitor nodded slightly, "Of course."

Mistoffelees wrapped his arms around his chest, considering the other. "I, just, I really don't know what I'm doing here."

"You needed a place to stay and this was a logical choice. Can I get you anything? Tea perhaps?"

"Tea would be nice," Mistoffelees answered, arching his brow slightly. "That's quite the extravagance you have there."

Cori offered a faint smile, "I haven't much of it. But there should be enough for a pot."

"Thank you," he said again.

Coricopat inclined his head before retreating to the kitchen to brew the tea.

Arms still holding around his chest, Mistoffelees wondered into the drawing room like area of the flat, looking around and feeling like he was snooping. He looked over the book Coricopat had been reading.

The mottled tom emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray with the tea set a few minutes later. Mistoffelees offered him a faint smile, settling in the chair nearest to the fireplace. Cori returned the expression, pouring the tea, "Cream or sugar?"

"You are going all out," Mistoffelees murmured. "Cream, if you don't mind."

"I suppose so..." He prepared the cup of tea and handed it to the younger tom.

Accepting it, Mistoffelees' smile became a bit firmer, though it still shook slightly, like his paws did. Anytime the thought of his uncle crossed his mind it got worse again.

"May I ask what happened?" Cori ventured as he prepared his own cup of tea.

Eyes snapping up, Mistoffelees bit his lip, more obviously than usual. "I, well, it," he floundered and hunched his shoulders. "My uncle appears to have kicked me out. Hopefully just for the night."

"What? Why?" He paused, shaking his head, "Nevermind, that's hardly my business."

"I protested his choice for Victoria's marriage," he murmured in reply, pulling his legs up onto the chair with him. For once he ignored the fact someone else was in the room, too distressed to do otherwise. "He threw a bottle of bourbon at my head in reply."

"A bottle of...Good heavens," Coricopat managed narrowly to avoid outright gaping at the other at that revelation.

Mistoffelees was paying more attention to the cup of tea in his paws, turning it around. "Mhm," he hummed.

"Did you say it was in regards to your cousin's marriage? She's to be engaged?"

Mistoffelees nodded. "To Plato Philipson," he murmured. "It's why I asked if you had heard from my uncle. It's not official yet."

"A-ah. I see. I have a meeting with your uncle in a few days, it's entirely possible that it will come up then," came the quiet response. Mistoffelees swallowed and nodded, still looking down. "Are you going to be alright?"

"I do not know," he murmured. "I really do not know. God," he exclaimed, nearly slamming the tea cup down. "Plato Philipson? Does my uncle have no sympathetic bone in that large body of his?"

"I don't believe I know much of the cat in question. Beyond what one hears about his family in general I mean." Cori's eyes flickered to the china tea cup.

"He," Mistoffelees bit his lip again. "He's arrogant, he's untrustworthy. That's the least of his problems." His head thudded against the back of the chair. "God, my uncle wants me to go into politics, but how am I supposed to help run a country when I can't stop someone I care about from marrying a monster? And  _god_  you don't need to be hearing this. You're my lawyer, not my confident."

The lawyer's ears flickered at that, "I'm hardly going to go telling everycat what you've said. Confide away."

Blinking, Mistoffelees finally raised his head, eyes on the other's face. "You like honesty in private don't you?"

"Wh-what?" Coricopat considered the question, "I suppose so."

"I'm sorry," Mistoffelees looked back down at the teacup. "It's my issue, I should hardly be bringing it up."

"There's no need to apologize."

"Then what should I do?" Mistoffelees asked.

Coricopat shrugged, "I don't know, but if you feel that strongly about it you obviously need to talk to  _someone_."

The smaller looked away for a moment. "I knew Plato for years in school. Victoria asked me today what he was like and I couldn't come up with anything."

"Nothing reassuring at least?"

Shaking his head, he sighed. "No, nothing I was willing to tell her."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Surely he must have  _some_  redeeming qualities?"

"I think I managed to come up with the fact he was intelligent? What I didn't mention was that he uses that to manipulate people."

Cori ran a paw through his hair, "You said he's an old schoolmate?"

Mistoffelees nodded. "Yes."

"He sounds like he was quite the delight. I...wish there was something to be done beyond wishing your cousin luck."

Mistoffelees considered him for a long moment. "Thank you," he managed. The mottled tom nodded very slightly, his gaze focused on the fire in the grate that was starting to burn itself out. "I really don't understand you," Mistoffelees said quietly. "But thank you."

"I...what do you mean? Surely I'm not that much of an enigma?"

"No, you are. An honest lawyer. Someone who's only honest around certain people, and it seems when no one else can hear. How many lord's heirs do you lecture?"

Cori managed not to react visibly to that, "Not many..."

"Many?" Mistoffelees asked.

"One," he finally answered honestly.

Mistoffelees smiled at him sardonically. "Ah, I thought as much."

Coricopat's gaze focused on the crackling logs, "I do apologize for that."

"The lecturing or it just being me?"

"Both?"

"There are worse things I'm sure," Mistoffelees said, shaking his head slightly.

"Still. It is hardly my place to lecture you."

Mistoffelees shrugged. "Perhaps not. But you let me into your house when you did not have to, which counts for something."

"I could hardly leave you out at night to fall victim to the rife gossip that this city excells at," Coricopat replied softly.

"You have no obligation to that though," Mistoffelees said. "It just, I'm sorry, I should really not question my own good fortune."

"I...I suppose there wasn't an obligation, but it's no trouble. Really."

He glanced down at the teacup, finally drinking it before it went completely cold and he wasted it. "I'm not sure I believe it to be _no_  trouble, but thank you for going through some trouble, even if you do not consider it much."

"I don't mind, but you're welcome if it comes to that," Coricopat sipped at his tea, still keeping his gaze focused on the fireplace.

Mistoffelees nodded and looked to the fireplace himself. "You just keep bringing your work home with you, don't you?"

"I don't know that I would call this bringing my work home. I do on occasion, but-" he broke off rather than let his mouth run away with him.

"But?" Mistoffelees asked, turning to glance at him.

"But I would hardly consider this such," he managed to word his thoughts so they weren't as improper as they had been in his mind. Amazing what a simple substitution of "this" for "you" could do to a sentence.

The black tom considered him, and nodded, before falling silent again. Cori finished his tea and glanced at the clock, "It's growing late."

"It is," the baron's heir agreed. "I should let you get to sleep."

"As I said, the spare room is available for you." The lawyer rose, "Good night, Mr. Quaxo."

"Good night," he said quietly.

Cori hesitated and then retreated to his bedroom for the night.

Mistoffelees watched him leave, curling up more in the chair for several moments before rising and finding his way to the spare room by logic more than anything. The only problem was his lack of other clothing, so he just curled up in the middle of the bed after pulling off his outer layers, hoping he wouldn't be too wrinkled in the morning.


	9. Coming From in Such Disarray

Coricopat rose early the next morning, getting dressed before exiting his bedchamber. He knelt and lit a small fire in the grate and then turned to clear the tea things from the night before. He took his time in the kitchen, washing the tea set as quietly as he could and then setting about making some breakfast.

Mistoffelees had been awake for a while, having not slept well for numerous reasons. When he heard the other moving around, he rose, trying to smooth his clothing out enough to be presentable before entering the kitchen quietly.

The lawyer glanced up as he came in, "Is there anything in particular I can get for you?"

He shook his head. "No, whatever you might have already been making will do fine."

Coricopat inclined his head in acknowledgement of that, finishing his preparations and dishing up breakfast for both of them, offering one of the plates and a set of utensils to the black tom.

"Thank you," he said quietly, looking around and finding the small table. Well, small compared to where he ate his meals.

"Of course," Coricopat settled down across the table from him, turnign his attention to his own breakfast.

Eating quietly, as he was accustomed too, Mistoffelees would glance up from time to time to consider the cat across from him.

Coricopat finally finished his meal and rose, "If you'll excuse me, I need to be heading to work. You're welcome to stay a bit longer, should you like."

"Thank you, but I should see if I can go home now, and get a change of clothing," he replied quietly.

"Alright, as you wish. Good luck. Good day to you."

"Thank you. Have a good day as well," Mistoffelees said with a nod. "Thank you for breakfast and well, everything."

"Of course. It was no bother."

Mistoffelees' mouth twisted up. "Of course not. Good day to you then."

Coricopat touched his brow in lieu of the hat he had yet to grab and slipped out of the kitchen, locating his overcoat and hat before leaving for work.

Mistoffelees remained sitting for a while, and sighed when he realized the longer he waited the most people would be on the streets. Rising, he closed the door behind himself on the way out.

Tumblebrutus stepped out of a shop, heading toward his carriage and very nearly collided with Mistoffelees, "I do beg your pardon, I wasn't watching where I was going. Terribly sorr-Misto?"

"Tumble," Mistoffelees all but squeaked. "You're out early."

"I...yes, I suppose I am. Though, by that token so are you."

"Well, yes," he said, running a paw through his headfur. "That is true."

Tumble looked him over, "Where are you coming from in such disarray?"

Mistoffelees opened his mouth to reply and realized how he looked and realized he had no excuse. "I..."

His friend shook his head and motioned to the carriage, "Care for a ride?"

"Please," Mistoffelees managed.

Tumblebrutus offered him a bit of a smile and stepped into the carriage, settling on one of the seats and watching as the other joined him. He spoke once the door had closed and the carriage had started on its way again, "So where were you coming from, and where did you leave your hat?"

He realized his brain shut off when he panicked so he opted for honesty. "I left my hat at home and I was coming from my lawyer's house."

Tumble's brown gaze swept over him again, "From your lawyer's house?"

Mistoffelees took note of the look and his ears flickered back, his posture showing the fact he was blushing more than the dark fur on his face allowed. "Yes?"

"Is there any elaboration going on with that?"

"Yes?" he offered. "I had to spend the night there last night. My uncle and I got in a fight."

Tumble's expression turned sympathetic, "Sorry to hear that. Are you doing alright?"

He nodded. "I hope so. I will need to speak to my uncle this morning."

"Good luck with that. Perhaps get cleaned up first?"

The smaller tom nodded quickly. "Yes. That is the first goal of this morning. Thank you ever so much for giving me a ride."

"Of course. I was going in your direction anyhow."

"Still, it means less people see me in my rather... hatless and disheveled state."

"Very true. The assumptions that could arise from your current appearance are...rather extensive."

"I'm not sure I even want to know," he muttered. "I'm sure the word affair would be tossed around quite a bit."

"Very much so. I am curious why you ended up at your lawyer's home though."

"Because I figured he did not have a father who would tell my uncle, nor servants to spread the story about town. I knew where he lived through chance," Mistoffelees replied.

"I suppose that makes sense." Tumble leaned back in his seat, "What have you been up to of late?"

"Because being kicked out?" he shrugged. "Not much of late. Yourself?"

"Not much..." his mind briefly flickered to that evening at the theatre but he ignored that.

"Sounds about right," Mistoffelees sighed.

"I suppose it could be worse, hm?"

"Yes, things could actually be happening," Mistoffelees replied.

"Exactly," Tumble agreed with a quick nod.

The carriage pulled up in front of Jones' front door. Glancing over, Mistoffelees offered his friend a smile. "We'll have to get together soon when I'm not in such a state of disrepair. Good day, Tumble."

"Good day, Mistoffelees. Pouncival is still talking about meeting at a pub soon."

"I like the sound of that," he said with a smile. "I know he's your cousin, but in a few days you shall hopefully understand why I do not want to see Plato right now."

Tumble offered a faint smile, "Probably, but I tend to avoid him often enough myself. I'll mention the idea to Pounce again and we'll see when he's looking at."

"Very good, thank you, Tumble," the smaller tom said before slipping out of the carriage.

Tumble watched his friend go before signaling the driver to continue home.

v.v.v.v.

Coricopat entered the law office and hung up his coat and hat, making his way over to the files and finding the current one he was working on before settling at his desk. He offered Macavity a quiet good morning and turned to try and concentrate on his work.

Macavity let that go for a few moments before tossing a pencil over. "Hey there. How was your night last night?"

Cori startled, picking up the pencil and putting it in his desk, "He showed up at my flat."

Macavity blinked. "Huh?"

"He showed up at my flat last night," Coricopat repeated.

"He surely not meaning Quaxo?" Macavity gaped at him.

"He very much meaning Quaxo."

"So, little Quaxo showed up at your flat. Why? How? What happened?" Macavity asked, leaning forward against the desk.

"Anything I say doesn't leave this room, understood?" Coricopat leveled him with a long look.

Macavity nodded. "Of course."

"Apparently he and his uncle had a fight. He came to my flat because he assumed, correctly, that I wouldn't tell his uncle and that I don't have servants who would gossip about it."

"Huh," Macavity managed. "How'd that go?"

"Well, I used the last of my tea."

"For such a guest, yeah that makes sense. But, if you're... well, feeling things and all that how did you handle him in your space?"

"As well as I could. I'm apparently more inclined to keep my thoughts my own in my own home," came the quiet response.

"That's good," Macavity said. "Very, very good. So, he doesn't know anything?"

"Not that I'm aware of. I certainly haven't told him anything that would give him that idea, so far as I know."

"Good," Macavity said. "You think he'll ever do it again?"

"I rather hope not, I don't see a reason for him to," Cori answered.

"Good. Try to keep it that way then."

"It's not as though I have much say in what he decides to do!" The mottled tom protested.

Macavity gave him a long look. "You can send him to a hotel. It's not like he lacks the funds."

"I...suppose that's true," Coricopat deflated.

Sighing, the ginger tabby leaned back in his seat. "Well, good luck I guess. At least you'll be off the case soon."

"Exactly. Thank you again for that, Macavity."

He nodded. "Least I could do. I prefer that than getting you sent into hard labor."

Cori managed a weak smile at that, "Still. I do appreciate it."

He got another shrug in reply. "You're welcome then. Do try and appreciate it."

"I shall," he turned his attention back to his work.

Macavity hummed, and looked around the office before attempting to focus on his own work.

v.v.v.v.

Entering the house, Mistoffelees headed for the stairs, intending to get to his room without anyone noticing him and changing before anything else. Serafine heard motion in the hallway and emerged from her boudoir, "Mistoffelees?"

He just about jumped out of his fur, his tail curling as he turned. "Oh. Mother. Good morning." So much for no one catching him in his rumpled state.

Her gaze swept over him, "Good morning, son. Do you mind coming to speak with me once you've cleaned up?"

"I, yes, of course. In your boudoir or someplace else?"

"The boudoir, please. If you could," Sera answered quietly.

"Alright, I will be done as soon as I'm dressed," he murmured, tail flickering.

She offered him a faint smile before retreating back to her boudoir.

He rubbed a paw over his face and took the rest of the stairs two at a time to get up them quicker. Serafine settled in her usual chair, locating her embroidery to give her something else to focus on.

Several minutes later, a knock was heard on the door, though it sounded possibly hesitant.

"Come in," she called.

Mistoffelees entered, having washing as quickly as he could in the hip bath and dressed. "Mother," he greeted, standing against the door.

"Won't you sit down, Mistoffelees?" Sera spoke softly, uncertain of her footing around the young tom before her.

He paused and finally swept into a seat across from her. It wasn't the nearest, but not the farthest either. "There was something you wished to discuss?"

"I wished to inquire after whether you found somewhere to stay last night, and to caution you to wait for a couple of more hours before speaking to your uncle."

He blinked. "I found a place to stay," he said though he did not expand upon where. "Why would you recommend that of my uncle? I would prefer to be given time to pack if he is going to kick me out again."

"Because he'll be less likely to throw you out after luncheon. Take a private lunch and then approach him after he's eaten his midday meal. As it is, he's still likely dealign with the after effects of last night."

Mistoffelees blinked. "Does he do that often?" he asked cautiously.

"Drink? Yes, unfortunately," his mother sighed, shaking her head.

"Good to know," he said, looking down.

"If you must speak with him the best hours to do so are between one and five in the afternoon. Occasionally a bit later, and sometimes a bit sooner, but those tend to be the most opportune times."

He nodded. "Thank you."

"Of course." She sighed softly, "It is good to see you, Mistoffelees. No matter what your uncle says, you've done well."

His eyes snapped up. "In what?" he asked and realized how bitter that sounded, and yet how much he needed to hear something.

Her ears flickered back slightly at his tone, "In your schooling, in your maturing. You've grown into a fine young tom."

His ears flickered again and he swallowed. "You barely know me," he said, and it bordered on an accusation.

Her ears lowered, "I-I know. I regret that fact."

"Surely it doesn't surprise you though," he replied.

"Surprise me? No. But it doesn't change the fact that I regret it and wish that I could change what happened."

He looked her over again. "What would you rather have done then?" he asked, more boldly than he felt.

She looked up in some surprise at the question, "If everything had gone as I wished? I would rather have lived my life as a merchant's wife and seen my son grow up. Even after your father died I much would have preferred to see you grow up than to have you away at school for your entire life."

"Then why did you bring me here?" he asked in some shock. "Surely you knew the moment you handed me over to Jones it would happen this way."

"What was I supposed to do, Mistoffelees? I was a single woman whose only family was her five-year-old son and her older brother. I had no way to support you on my own."

The small tom looked down again. "Did my father leave you nothing?"

"A shop, but very little expertise on how to run it, and little enough money to keep it going."

Mistoffelees bit the inside of his lip. "I never wanted this life," he said, a bit haltingly. "But now that it's mine, I find I can't seem to give it up."

Sera nodded very slightly, "I know. I'm sorry."

He brought his paws up to press against his eyes for a moment before looking at her again. "You must have loved my father, to run away for him. You ran away from this sort of life."

She looked down again, running a paw over the black velvet trim of her gown, "I loved him more than I thought possible. He was an amazing tom who did everything he could for both of us."

"Did that love, did it make it worth leaving this all behind?" Mistoffelees asked after a moment. He had never heard his father spoken of. He had a few memories, mostly the sound of his voice.

Serafine smiled faintly as she nodded again, "It did. It wasn't easy learning a new life, but it was worth it. I wish there had been more time, that you could have really known him."

"So do I," was the faint reply.

"He would have been so very proud of you," she said.

"I have done nothing worth making anyone proud," he glanced away, bitterness creeping into his voice.

"I don't believe that."

"Then name one thing," he said. "I have a first rate education and no inclination to do anything worth doing with it. Any inclination in life I might have had has been buried beneath years of duty. I ask my uncle to reconsider engaging Victoria to someone I can only consider a monster and spend the night with my lawyer for lack of alternatives after he threw a bottle of bourbon at my head. I've had no successes, and have helped no one."

"But you have tried. Good Lord, how you have tried. There are many cats who would stand by and do  _nothing_  should they hear of Victoria's engagement. And just because you don't wish to go into politics does not mean you have no inclination to do anything worth doing."

"Trying does no one any good," he said. "I can try, and try, and achieve nothing."

"But if you never try, there's absolutely no chance of succeeding."

"No, but it hardly makes for a successful life."

"Would you rather never try?"

"No. But I would like to be able to actually be successful at some point in my life."

"You will be. You're not trapped in a permanent rut of disappointment. I wish you could see that. You have so much potential."

For a long moment he considered that, bowing his head rather than replying with another bitter reply. "Thank you," he said finally.

She sighed very softly, but nodded finally, "Always."

"Thank you, also, for the warnings about my uncle."

"Of course. Good luck, Mistoffelees."

"To you as well," he said, finally rising.

She inclined her head, "Good day."

"Good day to you as well," he said, all but repeating what he said early. Opening the door, he gently closed it behind him on his way out. She watched him go, sighing slightly as she returned to her embroidery.

v.v.v.v.

Rumpleteazer looked around the darkened room, hitching her bag a little higher. "We sure this is the right place?" she asked her partner, voice low.

Jerrie glanced around, nodding, "Yeah, if th' map's right then we needs t' get outta this room an' go left. The jewel's're upstairs an' the silver's in th' room next ta this un." He kept his voice quiet as he slipped toward the door.

Trusting him, she followed just as quietly, nearly tripping over one of the stairs on the way up. Biting back a curse, she continued more carefully. When they reached the room, she was thankful it was unlocked.

He slipped into the room, carefully making his way across the room to the jewel box on a vanity.

She looked around, poking through the chest in the room as she waited for him to check the box. He withdrew the jewels, slipping them into his bag. There wasn't enough light to actually examine them here.

"Got them?" she asked.

Jerrie nodded, "Yeah, let's get that silver an' get outta 'ere."

"Works for me," Teazer declared, more than ready to have this job over with.

He started for the door, freezing as a floorboard creaked outside in the hallway. A step behind him, she froze as well. There was a light from a candle also under the doorway and she shot him a panicked look. His green gaze darted around frantically and he motioned her toward a wardrobe to one side.

Moving over that way, she stepped on another creaky floorboard and just about shrieked. The steps outside the door stopped for a moment, backtracked and the door pushed open. Jerrie yanked her with him back into the shadows as the light from the candle illuminated the space they had just been in.

Mistoffelees peered around the room, having definately heard a noise. He'd been sent out to the country house by his uncle, as repentance for the fight of the night before. Looking around, he spotted something he really knew should not have been there. "If you're hiding, you can't be a servant. You might as well come out."

Jerrie glanced at Teazer, hesitating for a long moment before stepping into the light finally.

Teazer followed, looking the smaller tom over. Well, at least it wasn't the Baron himself. Maybe they could knock him out, pawn the jewels and get to America still.

Mistoffelees considered them, a little unsure what to do now that they were out in the light. Glancing at their bags, his eyebrows rose. "Stealing from Jones. You're rather daring, aren't you?"

Jerrie tried to process a response to that, "Well, we ain't really got started yet. We'll jus' put these thin's back, an' be on our way, hm?"

Teazer blinked between the pair as Mistoffelees shrugged. "Oh, don't stop on my account."

Jerrie's brows rose sharply at that before his eyes narrowed, "What do you want?"

"Personally, I'd rather stop now than go to jail later," Teazer said a little quickly.

He shrugged again. "My uncle's wealth hardly matters to me. However, the best silver is usually locked up in the dining room, which is quite a ways from here."

 _Uncle?_ Jerrie shot Teazer a look that bordered on panic at that thought, "Good t' know. Well, we'll jus' be on our way then?"

"You might want to try the south exit," Mistoffelees said. "It tends to have even less people. Not that any other exit has more. I'll just be heading back to town."

"Th-thankee." Jerrie still couldn't seem to get his mind around what was going on.

Inclining his head to the lady, Mistoffelees turned and left, not much caring at all what happened to the jewels or the silver.

Jerrie glanced at his partner-in-crime before slipping out of the room and heading for the dining room again. She followed on his heels. "What just happened?" she asked quickly.

"I ain't sure, but I ain't questionin' it. Let's get that silver an' get th' hell outta 'ere. We'll figure it out later."

"Right. Silver. Let's move twice as fast as usual here."

Jerrie nodded, retracing their steps and slipping into the dining room, nodding toward a sideboard while he went to check the other one, "Nothin' with crests remember."

"I know," she said, a little more shortly than usual. "No crests. Nothing to trace us back to this."

His ears flickered a bit at that, but he turned to rifle through the drawers, making quick work of the locks without actually breaking them. She riffled through what was on top before going to the other half of the drawers, throwing anything without a crest into the bag after wrapping it so it would not jangle.

Jerrie finally closed the last of the drawers he was going through, "Y' set, Tea?"

"If you are," she replied. "Shall we?" Her voice was still strained.

He nodded, exiting the room and returning to their original entrance. He slipped out of the window, closing it once she was through and then nodding toward the route they'd taken to get there.

Walking quickly, she slung the bag over her shoulder. After a moment, she glanced back at him. "So, any idea what the hell that way yet?" she asked.

He shook his head, "Beyond Jones' nephew abettin' us stealin' this stuff? No. I do vote we  _don't_  tell Macavity 'bout this though."

"No, he certainly doesn't need to know," she said, shaking her head quickly. "The sooner we're done with this the better."

"Y' got that right. Get this stuff t' 'im as soon as we're back in London an' then see 'bout some low-profile work f' a while."

"Ever, perhaps," she said and sighed.

"Mebbe it'll go unnoticed beyond th' nephew? Either way, we'll keep an ear t' th' ground."

Another quick nod from the queen. "He didn't seem inclined to share but hell knows about my ability to read a person."

"Guess we'll see. 'E got a look at us, but that's all 'e knows," Jerrie reasoned.

"London's a big city," she reasoned.

"An ain't no one inclined t' talk t' th' upper crust any longer'n it takes t' pick a pocket."

"Sounds about right," she agreed. "Let's hope that holds true."

"It should. Either way, we'll know if 'e starts askin' around."

She swallowed. "Yeah."

"We might be able t' see 'bout a train back first thin' in th' mornin', rather than that later one we was talkin' 'bout."

"Good," she said. "I'm sorry, my mind is a mess right now."

"Don' be. It makes sense," He glanced at her and moved over, resting a gentle hand on her arm and drawing her closer to his side, "We're gonna be alright, Tea."

"I hope so, because otherwise we don't have much left."

"We got us, an' we got enough t' get by, even get us outta 'ere if we need to."

She nodded, leaning her head against his shoulder briefly. "Yeah."

His arm moved to rest around her waist and he paused, turning to face her, "Y' gonna be alright t'night, love?"

She nodded. "Let's just get back to where we're staying alright?"

The torbie sighed, but nodded, "a'right."

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Things will work out."

He offered her a faint smile, "They always do."

Finally they were back at the town that had once been protected by the Jones' estate back when towns needed protection. Jerrie unlocked and opened their room at the small hotel they were staying. He glanced up and down the hall before following Teazer inside and closing the door, locking it again.

She arched a brow but managed a smile, setting the bag down. "Aren't you supposed to have your own room?" she murmured.

"There's an adjoinin' door," he answered, offering her a sheepish smile.

She grinned, a little more relaxed. "I don't mind."

"Good," he glanced toward the door, reassuring himself of the lock before offering her a matching grin.

Pausing a moment she leaned forward again, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and resting her head against his chest. "Next time, we say no to the angry ginger tabby."

Jerrie's arms moved to wrap around her waist and hold her close. He nodded, resting his head on hers, "Yeah. We tell 'im know an' then leave town for a while til 'e cools down."

"Yeah," she said. "He's not so scary when he's not... well, sitting right across from you."

"Yeah. Somethin' tells me 'e knows that too."

"The Baron's always scary." She sighed, nuzzling against his chest.

He nodded, one paw coming up to pet her headfur, "We'll 'ave warnin' b'fore 'e does anythin' though."

"Alright," she said. "Lots of warning. A system even."

"We know our way 'round London better'n 'e does, an' we know all th' right places t' check for information 'bout cats pokin' thier noses round. We'll be alright, Tea."

"Yeah," she said again. "We'll be fine." She leaned up slightly to kiss his cheek. "You are allowed to stay the night however."

He leaned down and kissed her lightly, "Good t' know. Lemme make sure m' door's locked then I'll be back, hm?"

"If you must," she said.

"I'd feel better doin' so." He kissed her briefly again before slipping through the adjoining door and double checking the lock in his room, bracing a chair under the knob for good measure. They'd wake if anyone entered Teazer's room, but the adjoining door was thick enough he couldn't guarantee the same for his. Jerrie stepped back into her room, closing the door behind him.

Having already sat on the bed, she offered him a smile. "Feeling paranoid tonight?" she teased.

He offered her a faint smile and sat down next to her, "Maybe a little." She rested her head against his shoulder, pulling her legs up underneath her skirt. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her close, "Love ya, Tea."

She smiled. "Love you too. Despite the fact we're out of our minds."

"Workin' for Macavity y' mean?" He asked quietly for confirmation.

"That. Other things." She shrugged.

He glanced at her, "What sortta other thin's y' talkin' bout, Tea?"

"The fact we're working for Macavity, the fact we took this job... us somedays," she added, but took his paw and held it. "I don't mind bein' crazy usually."

He traced the striped on her paw, offering her a faint smile, "Crazy's usually a good thin'. Though this job might be stretchin' that."

"Let's put this in a different category then and call our usual actions crazy."

"Soun's good t' me," he kissed her temple, "We need t' be gettin' some sleep."

She nodded. Pushing him slightly, she motioned for him to lay down, intending to curl up around him for the night. Jerrie offered her a faint grin and kicked off his shoes, laying back, and drawing her down beside him. Nuzzling back up against him, she purred faintly. He absently stroked her headfur, drifting off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, we are shipping Rumpleteazer and Mungojerrie in this story. A lot of people consider them siblings but neither of us have ever really bought that. In this story they're 3rd/4th cousins to explain the similar style markings ((Though they're markings are not identical by any means, even in the films)) and working with that. In the Victorian era love between cousins was common, and in fact first cousins often were married. Honestly, it would make the most sense for Jones to marry Victoria and Mistoffelees to solidify the bond between his heir and daughter, but since he hates Misto so much he wants to marry her with someone else. So yeah. But just pointed out that things like that were not uncommon, though the practice was starting to be be questioned by the 1890s.


	10. I Need Another Drink

Entering the pub, Mistoffelees glanced around. He was followed by Pounce and Tumble, and the place looked disreputable enough for his taste. Tumble eyed their surroundings warily, "Are you two certain this is a good idea?"

"Certainly," Pounce shrugged, "It's one place Plato would never dream of checking."

"God knows I need somewhere where he wouldn't," Mistoffelees muttered.

"What's happened, Misto?" Tumble asked quietly as they located an out- of-the-way table.

"The announcement shall be tomorrow, I think," he said, getting the drinks. "He has been engaged to my cousin, Victoria Jones."

Pouncival gaped at his friend as he took his drink, "He's  _what_?"

"Your uncle agreed to this?" Tumble's eyes widened.

"My uncle not only agreed to this, he encouraged it," he muttered, looking at the table. "That's why I was out of the house that morning. We'd fought."

"Wait, what morning?" Pounce looked from one to the other.

Tumble ignored him, "Good heavens. I'm so sorry to hear that."

Mistoffelees also ignored Pounce. "So, my cousin is engaged to your cousin. This calls for a drink. Probably several." Raising his glass he downed part of it.

"Here, here," Tumble raised his glass, but only sipped at it.

Sighing, Mistoffelees glanced around the bar. Random patrons strolled by. "How goes with you two?" he asked finally, the drink disappearing fairly rapidly.

Pounce shrugged, "The same as ever."

"Except he's now dragging me along on his hair-brained trips," Tumble murmured, sipping at his drink again.

"Oh?" Mistoffelees asked. "I missed this."

"Tumble's just cranky that I wanted to congratulate the actors and actresses on a job well done after the play we went to."

Said patched tom shot Pouncival a long look, but kept his mouth shut.

"Right," Mistoffelees drawled.

Pounce shrugged, "Really, he is."

"Mostly," Tumble conceded.

"Well, what's the other bit then?" Mistoffelees asked.

Pounce shot Tumble a look, but the other tom shrugged, "He was using me as a front."

"For?" Mistoffelees asked. "This is worse than prying teeth out, or herding frogs."

"He needed to be able to honestly tell his father he'd been at the theater with me all evening. You know how poorly he can lie sometimes. He's apparently-"

"Tumble!" Pounce cut him off, growling softly.

"No, no," Mistoffelees motioned for Pounce to shush. "I want to hear all this."

Pouncival growled again but Tumble finished, "Apparently he's seeing the young ingénue there. She's quite pretty and rather sweet from what I could tell."

"Why Pounce!" Mistoffelees exclaimed. "Those weren't the hidden depths we talked about before, were they?"

Pouncival looked from one to the other and muttered into his drink, "I hate you both."

"Which didn't answer my question," he replied and looked at his glass. "I need another drink."

"Yes," Pounce finally responded, "Next round's on me."

"I'll go get it," Mistoffelees said, rising again and heading for the bar.

Tumble watched him go, shaking his head, "Well, I'm surprised he didn't know before I did."

"It hadn't come up," Pounce answered.

Meandering across to the bar, Mistoffelees just about froze when he saw a familiar ginger tabby. He meant to turn the other way abruptly, but said ginger tabby was already talking. "Ah, the heir of Baron Jones. A lovely evening to you."

"Mr. Hollister," he replied through gritted teeth at the form of address the other had choosen. "A good evening to you."

"It's too bad Cor isn't here," Macavity continued. He was fishing for a reaction and Cor would kill him but he was just too curious.

"Cor? Oh, you mean Mr. Zimmerman. Yes, it is too bad," Mistoffelees replied blandly. Getting any reaction out of him was harder work than Macavity had been expecting.

Jerrie entered the crowded pub and scanned it for a sign of the ginger tabby. Spotting him, he tapped Teazer on the shoulder and wove through the bar in that direction, finally reaching Macavity's side, freezing as he finally got a look at the cat who the tabby was talking to.

Teazer had been following him and nearly walked into his back when he stopped. She gaped at the black tom who glanced behind Macavity's shoulder to see the two standing there. Turning, Macavity wanted to see what he was looking at.

"Oh, these are two of my associates," Macavity started.

"Yes," Mistoffelees cut him off. "We met last night." Macavity's eyes widened. "They showed up unannounced at my uncle's estate. I believe everything worked out however."

"What?" Macavity demanded, voice dropping, head swiveling back to stare at the two.

Jerrie swallowed hard, his gaze darting from the small black tom to Macavity, he offered a shaky grin, "Yeah, 'bout that. We were actually jus' comin' t' talk t' y' 'bout that."

"Really?" Macavity demanded, voice still low. Teazer nodded quickly.

Mistoffelees' brows just rose higher and higher as Macavity realized how very obvious it was that they were working for him. Well, hell.

"Wouldn' dream a doin' otherwise," the torbie tom supplied. "So, we'll...wait t' talk t' y' later then? We'll be outside."

"If you like," Macavity growled.

"Well, y' look a bit busy right now. Talk t' y' in a little bit." Jerrie turned, catching Teazer by the elbow and retreating, not stopping until they were out of the pub. "My vote's on findin' a hotel under assumed names f' t'night."

"We never told him we were staying outside the pub," Teazer nodded. "He'll be calmer tomorrow I would hope."

"A'right. Hotel it is."

Nodding, Teazer led the way out.

That left Mistoffelees and Macavity staring at each other. "Well," Mistoffelees managed as another cat suddenly appeared. He blinked as the larger tom slung an arm around Macavity's shoulders.

"Mac! What a surprise. Mixing with the working classes?" Tugger asked. Macavity scowled at him.

"Bugger off."

Tumble looked up, happening to glance toward the bar. He paled and rose, "I've just remembered that I need to be heading home."

"We just got here," Pounce blinked in confusion.

Tugger was about to say something when he looked across the bar and saw Tumble. "Well, enjoy that," he said abruptly to Mac and walked off. Which left Mistoffelees and Macavity blinking at each other again.

"I'm going to order drinks," Mistoffelees told him, not wanting to know who would show up next. "Good evening to you."

"Good night," Macavity replied with the same false sincerity.

Tumble glanced toward the bar again and his eyes widened as he realized the maned tom was heading their way, "No, I really do need to be going. I promised my father I'd look into some things early tomorrow, and I need sleep."

"One more drink won't hurt, you've hardly even finished your first one," his friend argued.

Tugger slid up. "Good evening, Tumble," he greeted.

The young nobleman stiffened, "Good evening, Mr. Hollister."

"And how does this evening find you?" Tugger drawled smoothly.

"Busy. I was just leaving actually."

"Surely not this early in the night! You haven't even finished one drink," Tugger protested, having looked at the glass.

"I remembered another commitment I have," the young nobleman tried.

Tugger hooked his paws in his belt, and considered the other tom. "Really now?"

Tumble glanced around for a route of escape, "R-really."

"Or are you just runnin' out to avoid someone?"

"Now why would I h-have any reason to do th-that?" Tumble glanced around, knowing Pounce wasn't going to be much help, but rather hoping Mistoffelees would be.

"Not sure," Tugger replied. "But I'm curious to find out. Stay a little while."

Tumble's ears flickered back, "I really can't."

"What's this pressing matter?" Tugger asked.

"I don't see that it's really your business."

Mistoffelees slid back into his chair with the drinks, considering Tumble and Tugger with a raised brow. "You two know each other?" he asked.

"We've met," Tumble replied quietly, glancing toward the door again.

"Oh. Are you going to introduce any of us?" Mistoffelees asked.

Tugger thrust out a paw. "Tugger Hollister."

"A Hollister," Mistoffelees said through gritted teeth. "Ah."

Tumble smiled thinly, "Tugger Hollister, meet Mistoffelees Quaxo. You've already met Pouncival, I believe?"

"Yes, vaguely," Tugger answered, looking Misto over. The black tom shifted, reminded of Macavity's look. Tugger turned to Pounce and inclined his head. "Good to see you again."

Pounce lifted his glass in a half-salute, "You too." Tumble still stood, trying to decide whether he was staying or leaving.

Tugger turned to offer him a smile. The patched tom eyed him but finally sat down again, turning his attention to his drink. Mistoffelees glanced over at him, offering him a second drink as well, shoving another over to Pounce before working on his own.

Tugger considered the three of them before turning a chair and straddling it as he sat down. "You seem the cheery group."

"You're the one who chose to sit here," Mistoffelees replied. "What do you do anyway?"

"Run a socialist newspaper," Tugger replied cheerfully.

Mistoffelees choked slightly on his swallow. "That, doesn't even surprise me," he murmured.

Pounce shook his head at the answer, thanking Misto for the second drink. Tumble sighed, picking up his second glass, considering Tugger, "How is that press going for you?"

"As well as always," Tugger replied, a bit brightly.

"Which implies it could be far from considered well, if it always ran terribly," Mistoffelees said.

Pounce chuckled, hiding his smile behind his glass.

"May I ask who your intended audience is with the paper?" Tumble asked quietly.

The larger tom gave Mistoffelees a dark look, but the smaller just continued to sip his drink calmly. "Well," Tugger said. "Whoever would read it. I mean, I know we're in England, not France, but, the workers and the poor have a right to a voice." He'd toned down his original response, aware he was sitting by three Lords' heirs.

Tumble considered, "So let me see if I hear you right. The intended audience for your  _printed_  paper is the class which has very few people capable of reading?"

He nodded. "Mhm. We include lots of drawings. Besides, education is getting better. We tried holding classes for a while but that... did not go so well."

Tumble's brow arched, but he shrugged and turned back to his drink, "I see."

"And what do you three fine gentlemen do with your time?" Tugger asked, looking between them. Mistoffelees didn't reply, though he considered hitting his head against the table.

Pounce eyed him, "Is that really your business?"

"You asked about mine, it's only fair play isn't it?" he replied. "I mean, I figure you're all nobility of some kind, but the question is... what do you actually do with your days?"

"Isn't that just the question," Mistoffelees muttered.

"Well, Tumble here's looking into what it would take to be elected to the House of Commons. While I'm looking into how to work my way up to become a diplomat," Pounce answered, ignoring the sharp pain in his shin as Tumble kicked him.

Tugger tilted his head and considered them. "Huh," he said, sounding remarkably surprised.

"Wh-what?" Tumble glanced at him.

"Nuthin'," he tried. "Just surprised is all."

"You don't seem to have much faith in the upper classes," Mistoffelees remarked. "Aren't you related to a lawyer?"

"Oh, you know Mac then. Other brother's a cop," Tugger replied cheerfully.

"Yes," Mistoffelees said. "I know Mac." His voice fully expressed how unimpressed with the ginger tabby he was.

Tumble glanced between them again, having finished his second drink, "I-I should head h-home."

"Do you need a ride? Or, alternatively, share a cab?" Mistoffelees asked. "If I drink much more I'll be useless tomorrow."

"I-I..." He considered and then finally nodded, "I was thinking of just taking a cab. Are y-you coming, Pounce?"

The other patched tom shrugged, "I'll make my own way, thank you though."

Mistoffelees gave him something that might have once been a sloppy salute. "Good night then, Pounce. Nice to meet you... Mr. Hollister." He only hoped to never see him again.

"Night, Misto. Tumble," Pouncival inclined his head to them.

Tumble touched the brim of his hat, "Good night, Pounce." He glanced briefly at Tugger, "A-and you, sir."

"Night, Tumble," Tugger replied cheerfully. Mistoffelees gave him a shocked look. Tubmle's ears flicked back and he retreated quickly.

Mistoffelees followed at a slightly slower pace, blinking. "That was, well, different," he told the patched tom.

Tumble nodded briskly, stepping out of the pub and looking around for a cab.

Mistoffelees shook his head again, following the other. "He calls you Tumble?"

"Yes," the brown and white tom finally managed to hail a cab, motioning for Misto to precede him into it.

Mistoffelees got in, but wasn't quite ready to let the subject drop yet. "Is there any more I'm getting than that?"

"I-I didn't t-tell him he could, if that's w-what you're asking."

"It was, and does he do it just to be aggravating then?"

"I-I guess so? I've only met him t-twice."

"Huh," Mistoffelees leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "Maybe it's a family trait."

Tumble glanced at him, "Y-you mentioned his b-brother?"

Mistoffelees nodded. "Yes. Macavity Hollister, partner of my uncle's lawyer."

"Oh? Is-is he as insufferable a-as his brother?"

"Possibly worse. I've had more experience with the one I'm assuming is the elder. What else has that one done to you?"

"N-nothing? Just talked."

"He seems to have made quite the impression," Mistoffelees observed.

The patched tom looked at him again, feeling a faint blush rising and grateful for the darkness in the cab, "Oh? W-what do you mean?"

Mistoffelees blinked at the blush. "I'm curious to know what you think I meant before I tell you what I did."

"I don't know. He's brash and rather i-insulting."

"Just like his brother then," Mistoffelees said and shrugged. "He just seems to set your stammer off much more noticeably than most people, especially for having met him but twice."

"O-oh," Tumble shrugged, "I don't know. I-I don't do well with n-new cats, you know that."

"No," Mistoffelees agreed. "You really don't. He just seems different is all. But, I suppose, if he's anything like his brother I can hardly blame you."

Tumble shrugged, "H-how have you been?"

Mistoffelees shrugged. "Your cousin is engaged to mine. Other than that, life goes on as usual."

"Well, life's proceeding I suppose. I-I have another dinner tomorrow that my parents h-have organized."

"Who with?" Mistoffelees asked, only vaguely interested but polite.

"The Smiths. And th-the Jacobsens two nights after that."

Mistoffelees let out a low whistle. "Good luck with that set."

Tumble offered a wry smile, "Thank you."

A little hesitantly, Mistoffelees returned the smile. "Anytime."

The cab pulled up in front of Jones' townhouse, "Here we go."

"Thanks," Mistoffelees said, mostly steady when he stood up. He knew better than to drink that quickly, he really did. "Good luck with your dinners, and have a good evening."

"Thank you. I'll see you later. Good evening, Mistoffelees."

Slipping out, Mistoffelees made his way back into the town house. Tumble continued home, slipping inside and hurrying up to his room to sleep, and hopefully forget about the leopard-patterned tom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene was affectionately written in all notes as "the Clusterf- in the pub." It was conceived in a pub in Ireland which seemed fitting.


	11. His Problems With You

Coricopat entered the office and hung up his coat and hat before going and knocking on the door to Bailey's office. The solicitor glanced up, eyebrows already up. "Come in," he called out. His employees almost never actually bothered to speak to him, and he curious to know why one was knocking.

The mottled tom slipped in, closing the door behind him, "Sir?"

"Yes, Mr. Zimmerman?"

"I...wanted to ask for your permission to trade cases with Macavity."

Bailey's brows inched higher. "Is there any particular reason?" he asked, shifting the papers on his desk.

"I've...had difficulty working with Baron Jones' heir. The Baron has had him do a good deal of business, and I fear that I cannot do as much good on that case any longer."

Bailey gave the other all his attention for a moment. "Issues with his nephew?"

Cori nodded very slightly, "Yes sir."

Bailey nodded. "Well, whatever you need to do. You are most welcome to switch cases with Macavity with his consent so long as the Baron does not mind. What specifically are these issues, if I may ask?"

"It's, well, rather difficult to pinpoint exactly, sir."

"Anything you can manage?" the other tom asked, curious but not going to push the issue.

"I have a rather dangerous tendency to speak my mind around him. I just don't think it's wise for me to continue to work with that household."

Bailey considered and nodded. "Yes, of course. As I said, you have my permission as long as the Baron gives his."

Coricopat offered him a bow, "Thank you, sir." Nodding, Bailey's attention was already off him.

The mottled tom exited the office, reminding Macavity that they were both going to meet with the Baron the next day.

Macavity entered the office when Coricopat came back out of Bailey's. "It's official," he greeted Cor with. "Quaxo makes no damn sense."

Coricopat arched an eyebrow, making sure Bailey's door was securely closed, "Oh?"

Macavity considered the door and sat down, before leaning across, saying as quietly as he could. "He apparently shows thieves the door and greets them in pubs the next night."

Cori just gaped at him, "You sent your thieves to steal from  _Jones_?"

Macavity shrugged. "Which is not the point. Point being, young heir there was in the house and informed them they were going after the worst silver in the house."

"He really did?" Cori shook his head, "Goodness..."

"Followed by which way to exit. But the kicker was when he saw them last night. I managed to introduce them as my associates before he told me that they had, what were his words? Oh yes, shown up uninvited the night before but he believed it worked out to everyone's satisfaction."

That earned a long blink, "He is a strange one."

Macavity threw his paws up. "To say the least. I have no idea what to do with him."

"It could be worse."

"Oh?" Macavity asked, eyebrow arching.

"You could be in love with him."

"Point," the ginger tabby agreed.

"Remember I'm introducing you to Baron Jones tomorrow."

"Yes, I remember. And won't that go wonderfully at this point."

"It shall have to go as well as possible. Which means no more stealing from him," Coricopat replied.

Macavity raised his paws. "Alright. That job was hardly my idea anyway."

"Whose was it then?" Coricopat asked, sounding like he highly doubted that.

Macavity just shrugged. "Someone else. Come on Cor, the less you know, the better."

Cori sighed, "Fine. Just don't do it again."

Macavity nodded. "No worries. I don't think my agents would ever speak to me again if I asked that of them."

"Good. We do have legal work to deal with, I need to catch you up on the information regarding the Jones estate."

"Right, yes," Macavity nodded. He still looked a little stupefied by the entire situation.

v.v.v.v.

Macavity entered the Jones' townhouse, looking around in some awe.

Coricopat waited until the servant let them know that the Baron would see them before heading for the study, "Mac, behave."

Having just started down the stairs, Mistoffelees paused when he saw the pair of lawyers. "Mr. Zi-Mr. Hollister," he amended, voice showing his displeasure. "Whatever are you doing here?"

"I was just admiring this lovely Ming vase," Macavity replied sweetly.

Cori shot Macavity a long look at that, hissing his name under his breath. "We're here to see your uncle, Mr. Quaxo."

Macavity offered him an innocent look in return. Eyebrows rising, Mistoffelees glanced between the two and finally motioned up the stairs. "Yes, of course. Go right ahead."

They reached the study door and Cori knocked lightly.

"Enter," Jones said from behind his desk.

The mottled tom entered, holding the door for his partner, "Good afternoon, Your Lordship."

Macavity entered behind, looking suitably respectful. "What can I do for you, Mr. Zimmerman?" Jones asked, a bit coldly.

"I believe you had some work for the firm, sir? And, I wished to introduce my partner, Macavity Hollister."

"Yes, since you are here, I believe you might as well take the papers for the preliminary engagement," Jones said, and eyed Macavity. "But why would you need to introduce your partner?"

"Because, sir, I have had personal issues arise and I fear that I will not be able to adequately handle your business. Mr. Hollister is the most competent solicitor I know, short of Mr. Bailey himself, and I wished to recommend him to you."

Jones raised his brow before he nodded. "Very well. I expect the same level of service I have received from you in the past."

"Of course, sir. I will see to it that everything is relayed to Mr. Hollister." He paused, "Do you have the papers for the preliminary engagement, my lord?"

Jones produced them from his massive desk, handing them over.

Coricopat took them, offering him a bow, "Thank you, my Lord. We'll be on our way if there's nothing else?"

"There is nothing else," Jones informed the pair.

The mottled tom offered another bow before slipping out of the study, waiting for his partner in the hall. Macavity followed quickly, having no inclination to stay around Jones.

Down the stairs, Mistoffelees was discussing a matter with the butler, and glanced up as they came from the office.

Coricopat tipped his hat slightly to the black cat, "Good afternoon, Mr. Quaxo."

"Afternoon, Mr. Zimmerman, Mr. Hollister. Have you concluded your business with my uncle?"

"We have, yes," he glanced toward the door.

"What was it, if I may ask?" Mistoffelees glanced between them. Macavity wasn't meeting his eyes, looking around the foyer instead.

"He wished to have us begin with the engagement papers. And, I needed to introduce him to my partner."

"Why?" Mistoffelees asked, tilting his head. "I thought you had always dealt with my uncle's business." The butler had long since made a tactical retreat.

"Some personal problems have arisen," he repeated his excuse to Jones, "I haven't the energy to complete the work as well as it needs to be."

"Oh," the smaller said and tried not to stare at Macavity. "Is Mr. Hollister to take over your duties then?"

"Yes, he is."

"Oh," Mistoffelees repeated again and Macavity made a face at him sounding so terribly displeased by that.

"I will do my best to be worthy of being the Baron's lawyer," he said as evenly as he could.

"Now, if you'll excuse us, Mr. Quaxo, we need to be returning to work," Coricopat murmured.

"Yes, of course," he said, stepping to one side. He wanted to ask, "Will I see you around?" but the very phrase sounded oddly needy in his mind so he just offered the other a small smile. "A good afternoon to you-to the both of you," he added a bit more grudgingly.

Coricopat tipped his hat before exiting, waiting for his partner and hailing a cab.

Macavity trailed after him, tail swishing slightly, leaving Mistoffelees at the door. "That went well?" the ginger tabby offered.

"I don't know. It went well with the Baron, but I don't know regarding his heir," Cori sighed heavily.

"Oh?" Macavity prodded gently.

"I know this is the right decision, I just...didn't think it would be so hard."

Getting into the cab, Macavity considered him. "You really do get in deep, don't you? He didn't look so pleased either."

Coricopat sighed again, leaning back against the seat, "I can't help it."

"No, you really can't," Macavity shook his head.

"Hopefully this will make it easier."

"Sure, until you run into him again."

"The likelihood of that is vastly decreased," his tone indicated that he wasn't sure how happy about that he was.

Macavity inclined his head, not willing to push the conversation.

v.v.v.v.

Several days passed before anything else happened to disturb the calm. Occasionally Bailey would interact with his actual clients, usually on their own terms. Drinks with Bustopher Jones were rare, happening only once a year, sometimes two. The fact it happened to fall on a date so soon after Coricopat's departure from Jones' service was simple chance.

The two toms talked comfortably for a while, glasses kept full. Swirling the alcohol around in his glass, Bailey considered. "Have you gotten much time with Hollister yet?" he inquired.

Jones shrugged. "He is not nearly so pleasing as Mr. Zimmerman. But he said he had a personal issue come up that meant he would not have enough energy to devote fully to my case, and considering the engagement to my daughter..."

Bailey startled slightly. "He said it was a personal matter? Odd. He told me it was a problem with your heir, Mr. Quaxo."

Every muscle in Jones' bulk tensed. "Excuse me?"

"So, that was not what he told you," Bailey said, nodding. "When he brought it before me to check, he said he was developing issues with the nephew. Something about not being able to help what he said around him. I assumed they had gotten into some sort of argument, possibly more than once."

Jones' face darkened as he listened to that. "That brat child."

"I thought Mr. Hollister was sufficiently pleasing for the job," Bailey said, unperturbed. "Does it matter which lawyer is looking after your case?"

"It is the principle of the matter," Jones rumbled and the smaller tom shrugged, pouring another drink and not much caring either way. So long as his firm was being paid, he did not care about the noble families internal issues.

v.v.v.v.

Later that evening, Mistoffelees was called to his uncle's study. Considering the way it had gone last time he'd been there, he was concerned. Knocking, he entered, tail twitching around his legs. "Yes, Uncle, Sir?" he asked, keeping his voice as even as possible.

Jones glowered at him from behind the desk. "Mistoffelees," he all but spat. "I always knew you would do me ill."

"S-sir?" Mistoffelees gaped, running down everything he had done recently. "I-I-"

"The lawyer?" Jones snapped. "He had issues with you. His problems with  _you_  apparently are why he left."

Mistoffelees' ears flattened. "H-he, what?" he asked, voice growing small in confusion.

"He could no longer work with you. You cost me the services of an excellent lawyer!" Jones thundered and Mistoffelees leaned harder against the door.

"I-I, I'm sorry," he managed, all coherent thought fleeing from his mind. Maybe he should no longer spend time with Tumblebrutus, if his sudden stammer was any indication.

"You're useless, pathetic!" Jones declared. "You could never do anything right! You're a layabout, a waste of space. Tell me, Mistoffelees  _Quaxo_ , why I should ever do anything for you?" He put so much hate into the last name that Mistoffelees bristled.

"Don't you dare insult the name of my father," he snarled, anger making him forget his place.

"Why not?" Jones demanded. "He never did anything worthwhile. He couldn't even produce a decent son."

Mistoffelees' ears had flickered up before flattening again. "Is that all, sir?" he managed finally, still sane enough to try and call a retreat.

"Like hell it is!" Jones yelled. "I have not finished yet." Mistoffelees shrank further against the door. "If you must cost my services, you had better start doing things to earn your keep as my heir."

"I-but there is-" Mistoffelees started.

"If you can be of no use, then away with you!" Jones yelled. "I can make an heir out of Philipson. He already has come into his titles after the recent death of his father. As soon as Victoria has a child, they shall have all my money unless you can give me a reason to choose you instead."

Biting the inside of his lip, Mistoffelees couldn't even be surprised. "S-sir-"

"Well, Mistoffelees?" Jones demanded. "What say you?"

"I hardly know what I could possibly-"

"After all, you're a pathetic waste of space."

"If I'm that much of a waste," Mistoffelees snapped again, finally giving in to anger again. "Then why do you bother keeping me around?"

"Yes," Jones snarled. "Why do I?"

"That, I mean, that's not what I-"

"If you can't do anything useful then you have no place under my roof!" Jones roared, rising.

"You, but, where am I to go?" Mistoffelees managed.

"Out!" Jones roared and Mistoffelees retreated before anything could be thrown at his head.

v.v.v.v.

Coricopat was settled in his chair, reading that day's newspaper. He hadn't had the opportunity to peruse it before the evening-he never did. He frowned at a couple of the headlines, but found that he was only re-reading the same sentence over and over again. He hadn't been able to concentrate much outside of work since he'd exchanged positions with Macavity in regards to their clients. Mac had introduced him to the other family the day before and he never thought he'd say it, but he almost preferred working for Jones' interests.

The mottled tom sighed and set the paper aside, picking up a book from the small table and locating the page he had left off on.

A sudden loud knock sounded from his front door.

The lawyer startled, nearly dropping his book, and rose. He set the volume aside and moved over to the door, answering it cautiously, "Yes? Can I help you?"

"What I don't understand," Mistoffelees said, walking into the apartment without waiting to be invited. "Is what your problem with me is."

Coricopat turned to face him in confusion, closing the door, "What?"

"What I just said," Mistoffelees replied. "What the hell is your problem with me? Because I was somewhat unaware."

The mottled tom's ears lay back, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Funny, considering your boss seemed pretty succinct on the matter."

Cori paled, "He spoke to your uncle?"

Mistoffelees nodded. "I can only presume that considering what my uncle told me shortly."

"Damn...That was not supposed to happen." He sighed, looking away.

"Then what was?" Mistoffelees demanded. "Which has not answered my question of what your problem was in the first place!"

"Can I get you anything? And your uncle was supposed to have heard exactly what I told you, and nothing more."

"Well that's not what happened," Mistoffelees crossed his arms over his chest. "And no, not until you give me a damn answer!"

His ears lowered further, "Surely you can put it together yourself. I didn't lie to either of them."

"An issue with me and a personal issue. What the hell could that possibly be?" He was too frazzled and angry to be thinking clearly.

Coricopat opened his mouth to reply, but shook his head, turning and retreating to the kitchen. Mistoffelees gaped after him. Fury was starting to crawl up his spine. "What's going on?" he called after the other, a little helplessly.

"I have a personal issue and trouble working with you that is not conducive for me to be able to continue in your uncle's employment," he answered, setting to washing the dishes that he still hadn't dealt with from his supper.

"You never seemed to have such a problem before," Mistoffelees protested. "What could it possibly be?"

"I-I...I can't tell you," He rinsed the dishes and started drying them.

Impulsively Mistoffelees reached out, grabbing his wrist to stop him. "You're washing dishes?" he managed not to yell but it was close. "Are you serious?"

Cori startled, nearly dropping the plate as he yanked his arm away from the touch, "I can't tell you!"

Mistoffelees flinched back slightly. "Why not?" he demanded, in confusion. "What could be so bad as all that?"

The solicitor closed his eyes, pressing the heel of his hand to the bridge of his nose, "I... I believe myself to be falling in love with you." His voice was barely audible.

"O-oh," Mistoffelees blinked wide eyes at him, entire posture shifting from aggressive to shocked. "You, but you, isn't that illegal? And you're, you," he realized he was circling the same thoughts without getting anything said and snapped his mouth shut.

Coricopat nodded slightly, turning his attention to putting the dishes away, "It is illegal. Do you understand now why I  _cannot_  work for your uncle any longer?"

"I, yes," Mistoffelees said in a small voice. "You love me?"he asked in an even smaller one.

"I-I..." The solicitor swallowed and then nodded.

"I suppose that explains some things," he managed. His heart was attempting to pound out his chest.

Coricopat's ears flickered, "Oh?"

"Your habit of being terribly honest with me?" Mistoffelees offered and then frowned, past conversations catching up in his mind. "Wait, if you're in love with me then…What happened to passion is only a lie and dreamers only harm those around them?" His posture shifted again to defensive, slinking back slightly and looking up at the other.

"I still believe that dreams do more harm than good. And...passion, is questionable. Whether or not it exists depends on the cat," Cori had rather forgotten that hole he'd dug.

Mistoffelees looked far from impressed. "But you love me despite that?"

"Despite what?"

"Despite passion being questionable and that I'm only going to do more harm than good to those around me?"

Cori's ears lay back again, "I..."

"What am I supposed to do?" Mistoffelees asked, looking up at him.

"Th-that's hardly for me to answer," the solicitor answered, glancing toward the main room of the flat.

"Any thoughts? You've been so honest I'd be hurt if you suddenly stopped now," Mistoffelees replied dryly.

"It isn't as though there's a lot of options. If you don't feel the same my only request is that you not mention it to anycat who might cause trouble for me-I could lose my freedom, and my job for this. If you do reciprocate? I don't know."

"That's not terribly helpful," the shorter tom said, voice almost lost in the room.

Coricopat sighed heavily, "I'm at a loss for what to tell you. Anything beyond this is up to you."

Mistoffelees looked down. "I... I should see about finding a hotel for tonight."

"I...if you wish. Good evening, Mr. Quaxo." He hesitated another long moment before swallowing and turning to go. Coricopat watched him, "I do have the spare room if...that is if you need somewhere to stay."

Mistoffelees paused for a long moment, glancing back at him. Finally, he shook his head. "N-no. I, I'll see you around," he managed.

The lawyer dropped his gaze, nodding slightly, "Very well. Good night."

"Good night," Mistoffelees managed, turning and ducking out, mind still whirling in confusion.

Coricopat locked the door once the other had left and got ready to try and sleep. It was going to be a long night in a pretty constant state of "not panicking."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your songs for this chapter: "Cannonball" and "Whatever You Want" by Vienna Teng. (Though, Damien Rice also does Cannonball if you prefer that version).


	12. Wouldn't Want to Intrude

Serafine knocked on her brother's study door the next afternoon. She glanced at the clock in the hall, it was one of the safest times to speak with him, but that might not mean much of anything. He called out permission to enter, not sounding thrilled with anyone knocking on his door but accepting it.

The tuxedo queen smoothed a paw over her dark green dress with black satin trim before stepping inside, "Good afternoon, brother."

"Sister," he greeted. "What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you had seen Mistoffelees?"

"He left last night," her brother said, perhaps almost ashamed but voice still dripping arrogance.

She frowned at him, "Whatever for?"

"We had a disagreement," Jones said mildly.

"So you threw him out? Bustopher, are you trying to cause scandal?"

"He deserved it," Jones rumbled.

"How?" She demanded.

"His lack of respect was costing me valuable services," Jones replied.

Sera bristled at that, "Mistoffelees is one of the most respectful young toms in society, and you know that."

"He apparently cannot even get lawyers to work for him."

"What? Whatever are you talking about?"

"The lawyer that has worked for me for years resigned from my services due to your son."

"You're certain? Have you found another lawyer?"

"Yes, but that is hardly the point. The man's very boss came to talk to me about this!"

Her ears flickered back, "So you threw your heir out of the house? That will cause more harm than good, Brother."

"He left," Jones protested.

"And how much of that was caused by you threatening him?" Sera's golden eyes narrowed.

"That hardly matters," Jones sniffed. "He removed himself from the house after all. I cannot control his actions."

"No, but you can control your own."

"Are you questioning my conduct, dear sister?"

She pursed her lips, "I'm questioning your treatment of your heir."

"How dare you," he seethed. "You are the one who brought him here after all."

Her ears lay back, "Because we had nowhere else to go. You let us return, but I certainly did not bring my son here so you could mistreat him and use him as a pawn."

"A pawn?" Jones demanded. "You think I am treating him as a pawn?"

"I think you treat many cats as pawns, my son included."

"Are they not my pawns?" Jones asked. "If you insist that I treat them as such."

"They're living breathing cats, not designed for your personal use, Bustopher."

"What could they ever do against me?" he asked.

"One of these days, Bustopher, you're going to find that you've lost any allies you have due to your penchant for treating them as pawns and stepping stones."

Jones arched his brows. "Surely that wasn't a threat."

"No, it's a statement based on things I have seen," she answered quietly.

"Any more statements knocking around in that brain of yours?"

"I believe I've said my piece."

"If that's all then?"

"Good afternoon, brother," She dipped a slight curtsey and left the room.

v.v.v.v.

Munkustrap wove his way through the printing room for his brother's "paper" and ascended the stairs at the back. He paused in front of the door to the small apartment before rapping sharply on it.

Glancing up from where he had several drafts spread out around the table, Tugger moved over to open the door. Sitting in her usual chair by the fire, Bombalurina barely looked up from the book she was reading, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

"Yeah?" Tugger asked, leaning against the door frame as he opened it. "Oh, Straps."

"Afternoon, Tugger. You going to invite me in?" The silver tabby's brow arched.

"Sure," he said, rolling his shoulders and standing back. "Come right on in. Don't mind the mess."

Munkustrap entered, pausing as he saw Bombalurina, "My apologies, I didn't realize you had a guest."

Bomba glanced up from the book with an arched brow and for a moment there was an awkward silence. "She's not a guest," Tugger replied as Bomba turned her gaze to him.

"Why are your brothers so attractive and how ever did it just skip over you?" she asked, shaking her head. "No wonder you hid this one so long."

"Hid?" Tugger asked. "I never... Oh. Oh. You two have never met have you?"

Munkus' ears flickered at that, looking from his younger brother to the queen seated by the fire, "She's not a guest?"

"No?" Tugger offered.

"I live here," Bomba informed the silver tabby, bookmarking her book.

"...You live here?" His brows rose at that, "How long?"

"Four years?" she offered and Tugger had the decency to look abashed.

"Four  _years_?" His blue gaze darted to his brother, "Are you going to introduce us, Tugger?" The unspoken "like you should have done ages ago" hung in the air.

"Bombalurina Harris, this is my brother, Munkustrap Hollister. He can go by 'Straps," Tugger said, motioning between them.

"Lovely to meet you," Bomba said, rising fluidly and moving over, offering her paw to the silver tabby.

He took her paw, kissing the back of it, "And you, Miss Harris."

Her brows rose. She's meant to shake his paw, her tail curling slightly when he kissed it instead. "Thank you, sir."

Munkus released her paw, stepping back slightly, "I do wonder how we never met before now."

"Chance, probably," she replied.

"'Straps tends to show up in the late afternoon or evening," Tugger added.

"That would explain it then," she said, offering him a smile. "I'm usually working."

"Working? May I ask what you do?" The tabby asked.

Tugger bit his lip at how her first answer had sounded, turning back to his drafts as they talked.

"Actress," she replied, something cold going up behind her eyes. "A perfectly respectable profession."

Munkustrap held his paws up placating, "Yes, a perfectly respectable profession. And it would keep you out in the afternoon and evenings." He glanced toward his brother, "How is it dealing with him day in and day out?"

She smiled faintly, though the chill remained deep inside. "It simply requires a loss of sensitivity to ink stains everywhere. He's not too bad otherwise. So long as you can keep his more insane impulses under control."

"I still think that-" Tugger started.

"No," she replied simply and the manned tom shrugged before going back to his draft.

The tabby's brow rose at that, "Do I want to know?" He shook his head, answering his own question, "Probably not. I didn't realize there was room for two cats in this apartment, is all."

"I have the attic," she replied. "It's my non-ink stained refuge. And if it's one of his crazy ideas, chances are it would cut the already small space further into a smaller space. You just have to put your paw down with him is all."

"Ah, the attic, I had forgotten this place had one. And, I suppose that would do it." He looked around, speaking to his brother, "How are things with you, Tugger?"

He glanced back from the sheets he was laying out over the table to organize them, ruffling his mane. "Same as always really. Why? Anything up?"

"Just curious. I'm not allowed to ask how you are?" His brother queried.

"Well, yeah, but usually there's a reason behind it is all."

"I'm checking in is all, reminding you to keep your head down."

Raising his head, Tugger gave him a long look. "Me? I always keep out of trouble."

Bomba let out an undignified snort as she returned to her place in the chair, shaking her head slightly as if she doubted those words highly.

Munkustrap's brow rose, showing his agreement with Bombalurina's apparent sentiment, "Right. Of course."

"So long as you're not annoying nobles at the theatre or rescuing queens off the street you stay at home and have a nice cup of tea, right?" Bomba asked, gracefully quirking a brow.

Tugger made a face at her and she smiled softly, warmth behind her green eyes.

"Annoying nobles at the theatre?" Munkus glanced at the red queen to see if she'd finish that story.

"A few lords' sons stopped by after one performance," she said with a shrug. "The way little Jemi told it to me later he regaled one of them with all the reasons socialism was the only acceptable system and how corrupt the lords were before figuring out who he was talking to."

The silver tabby ran a paw through his headfur, "You didn't really?"

"He... well yeah," Tugger admitted. "He wasn't very forthcoming with me, okay?"

"Surely it can't have been that hard to tell he was noble?"

"Well," Tugger admitted. "In hindsight, no." Bomba rolled her eyes at him.

"Do you at least know which nobleman you spouted on about the evils of his class to?" His older brother sighed.

"Yeah, I know his name," Tugger mumbled.

The silver tabby shook his head slightly, "Well, that's good at least." He glanced at his pocket watch, "I really ought to be going...I just wished to come check in."

"Alright," Tugger said, sounding a bit huffy. "Have a good evening and all that business."

Bomba rolled her eyes again. "It was lovely to meet you finally, Mr. Hollister."

"And you, Miss Harris. I do hope to see you again. Good evening, Tugger." The silver tabby offered them both a nod and then slipped out of the apartment.

Tugger and Bomba glanced at each other. "You seriously never met?" Tugger asked and she shook her head, glancing toward the closed door.

"No."

"Well, I'll be damned," Tugger remarked with a shrug.

v.v.v.v

Mistoffelees paused as he entered the apartment, considering retreating back outside. "Who let you in?"

"The maid of course," Plato replied, glancing up from the newspaper Mistoffelees had bought the day before. "Is that any way to greet an old friend?"

"We aren't old friend," the smaller replied, finally closing the door and stalking over to the sideboard and pouring himself a glass of water. "What do you want?"

"To talk. It's been ages. It seemed you might need a friend in this trying time."

"I'm doing just fine," Mistoffelees managed, not quite growling.

"Come now," Plato said, rising and holding his arms out. "Wasn't there a time you—"

"Thought I cared for you?" Mistoffelees cut in. "Yes. But that was a long time ago."

"I simply wanted to make sure you were alright," Plato said though his face twisted darkly at the smaller tom's words.

"As you can see, I'm doing fine."

"In a hotel rather than your actual place at the Jones' estate," Plato arched a brow. "Fine indeed."

This time it was Mistoffelees' face that twisted. "How dare you."

"How dare I?" Plato asked in some shock, though he smirked moments later. "What am I daring, dear little Misto?"

"My cousin," he snapped, having changed the subject to what really bothered him. "How dare you engage yourself to my cousin?"

Plato's expression darkened. "Excuse me? I came to see if I could find some way of helping you and instead—"

"You? Help?" Mistoffelees looked scornful. "You help me? God, I can't believe you. You… this summer," he shook his head. "Then you engage yourself to my cousin?"

"What would last summer have to do with that?" Plato asked. "It was a fun way to pass the time, wasn't it?"

"No," Mistoffelees replied coldly.

Plato blinked. "Well, that's your own problem, not mine. I am surprised you are against my alliance with your cousin, however. I will bring a better name to your family and give her wealth after all. I am already my own lord, since my father died a few months ago. I belong to the House of Lords and am steering our country to greatness."

"She deserves better," was Mistoffelees' reply.

Plato's eyes went cold. "Are you jealous?"

The smaller gave him an incredulous look. "Of—no. God, no. I would never do that to myself again."

Plato stepped forward so his thin form could loom over the shorter, whose ears tilted back. "So you do not approve then?"

"No."

Shaking his head, Plato smiled coldly. "I was going to offer putting in a good word with your uncle for you. But you seem quite capable of living like this." He paused to glance around the two room hotel suite. "After all, you do best with no power to your name. After all, I am a count and you are only a Baron's heir—and right now you're hardly even that."

Ears going flat, Mistoffelees took a deep breath. "Get out," he said, pointing toward the door but forcing his hazel eyes up to meet Plato's brown ones, chin jutting out in anger. But he refused to step back from where the other tom was attempting to use his height as a weapon.

"Do you think you can make me do even that?" Plato asked, smirking.

"Yes," Mistoffelees said, voice even. "Now get out."

"You're hardly doing a good job of convincing me not to marry your cousin," Plato said, heading for the door and pausing to turn around, Mistoffelees watching him warily. "And you're so much more honest in private. I wonder how you'll enjoy the next time we have lunch. Or better yet the wedding party."

"Out," Mistoffelees replied and leaned against the sideboard when the door finally closed. He considered the glass of water and set it down, pouring a glass of port instead.

v.v.v.v

Mistoffelees glanced around the theatre as cats rose for intermission. "Well, aside from the fact I think you're using me as cover... thank you," he told Pounce beside him. "For getting me out tonight. That hotel room was starting to drive me insane."

"I still say that we have plenty of spare rooms and you could probably stay in one of them with no one the wiser," his friend offered, not countering the accusation of using Mistoffelees as cover.

The smaller tom sighed. "No. I think this is best for now. Just because I would hate to put you in trouble with your father. Only one of us should be in trouble at a time."

"You could always talk to Tumble about a room, too?" Pouncival rose, glancing at the curtain to his family's private box.

"Could," Mistoffelees said, rising as well. "I don't know. Hopefully I'll be able to talk to my uncle soon."

"Hopefully. Well, shall we go join the masses on the other side of this curtain?"

"We could, yes," Mistoffelees agreed.

Pounce offered him a grin and pulled the curtain aside, motioning his friend through, "After you."

Sighing, Mistoffelees stepped through, looking around the lobby area, not really expecting to see anyone.

Pounce stepped out as well, coming to stand beside his friend, his gaze scanning the lobby.

Coricopat slipped out of the main auditorium, he'd heard good things about the latest production and had decided to take an evening to try to get his mind off of a certain Baron's heir. His grey eyes swept around the crowd, stopping when they came to rest on Mistoffelees.

Eyes still roaming, it took Mistoffelees a few moments longer to spot Coricopat, though when he did his spine went straight. Pouncival's brow arched as his friend stiffened next to him, "Are you alright?"

"Fine," he managed, eyes still across the room though he managed to get his spine to relax.

Coricopat hesitated for a long moment before he wove his way through the crowd to the other toms, "Good evening, Mr. Quaxo."

Pouncival's brows rose, but he kept quiet for the moment.

"Good evening, Mr. Zimmerman," the smaller tom replied, voice completely even. "How does it find you?"

"Quite well, thank you. And yourself?"

"Doing alright," he replied. "Life remains much the same. Are you enjoying the play?"

His ears flickered as he realized what life remaining the same could mean considering the last time he'd seen the smaller cat, "Well enough, yes. And you? Are you enjoying it?"

"It's a well done production," Mistoffelees replied, watching the other's ears.

Coricopat forced his ears to settle mostly forward, "It really is." He glanced at Pouncival, "I fear I have interrupted. I should leave you two gentlemen be, and bid you good evening."

"You don't have to," Mistoffelees said a little too quickly and drew back. "H-have you two met?" he managed to mostly hide the tremor in his voice.

Pounce shook his head, "I don't think so." He glanced at Mistoffelees, an eyebrow arching at the bit of a tremor which he was accustomed to from Tumblebrutus, but not from the black tom.

At least when Mistoffelees stumbled it wasn't as obvious. "Pouncival Smythe this is Coricopat Zimmerman," he managed a bit abruptly. Seeing the mottled tom since their last conversation was twisting his stomach up.

Pouncival offered his paw, "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Zimmerman."

"You as well, sir," came the response as the lawyer shook the offered paw.

Mistoffelees glanced between the two of them, unsure how to react in any way. He had already asked if the other was enjoying the play after all, and all conversation felt like it stopped after that.

Pouncival considered the taller cat, "May I ask where you're sitting?"

"On the main floor, near the back."

Mistoffelees blinked. "Those are hardly the best seats."

Coricopat shrugged slightly, "I didn't come for the best seats, I came for a relaxing evening."

Pounce considered for a moment, "You know, there's room in my family's box, if you would like to join us."

The lawyer's grey eyes widened, "I couldn't."

Hazel eyes turning to Pounce, Mistoffelees managed to keep his voice even when he replied. "You could, if you liked."

Coricopat glanced at him warily, his ears flickering, "I wouldn't want to intrude."

Pouncival ignored the looks he was getting from the other two toms, "Nonsense. We've both invited you now. I insist."

Finally turning back to the mottled tom, Mistoffelees rolled his shoulders slightly. : Coricopat glanced between them, still uncertain, "If you're sure I won't be intruding."

"You won't be," Mistoffelees replied.

The lawyer hesitated for another long moment and then nodded, "Thank you both, in that case."

"You're welcome," Mistoffelees mumbled, not quite meeting his gaze.

Pounce glanced around, "We'd best be heading back, intermission's nearly over."

Nodding, Mistoffelees led the way, sitting down in his earlier seat quickly. Pounce settled in his previous seat, motioning Coricopat into the seat on Mistoffelees' other side.

Trying not to react to the other being so close, the smaller looked down at his program.

Coricopat glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, but turned his attention to the audience, scanning the crowd to see if there was anyone he knew even vaguely among the attendees that evening.

"Has work been going well?" he asked.

"Hm? Oh, yes. Thank you for asking."

"But you're not working on my uncle's cases anymore?" Mistoffelees asked, still not looking at him.

"No, Mr. Quaxo. I'm not, though my partner is. I believe you were aware of that?"

One of Pouncival's ears swiveled in their direction, his attention apparently on the box opposite them.

"Things could have changed," he replied, still not looking over.

"I do not think it would be wise to change lawyers with your uncle twice in such a short period of time."

"Probably not." Mistoffelees paused. "Have you heard any news about my cousin form your partner?"

"Not as such, no. Is there anything particular I can look into for you?"

"No," the smaller replied, carefully not thinking about Plato's appearance the day before.

Coricopat glanced at him from the corner of his eye, "You're certain?"

"Yes," he said. "I assume no news is good news."

The lawyer nodded very slightly, "In all probability." He fell silent as the lights dimmed and the curtain opened on the second act.

When the lights went out, Mistoffelees finally turned his gaze briefly to the other before trying to focus on the stage. However, throughout the act he found himself studying the other rather than the play, trying to figure out why.

Coricopat shot the occasional glance in Mistoffelees' direction, though did his best to concentrate on the performance and not the cat sitting next to him. The smaller tom was more than a little glad when the lights actually went back up and he couldn't obviously watch the mottled tom anymore.

Pouncival rose, "I'm going to go congratulate the performers, Misto. If you would prefer to head out now, I just need your word that I was here tonight?"

Mistoffelees managed not to roll his eyes. "Considering how long I expect you'll take? I think I'll leave now. Don't worry, you have my word."

Pounce nodded, glancing at Coricopat, "It was good to meet you, Mr. Zimmerman."

"And you, sir. Have a pleasant evening."

Mistoffelees really hadn't processed that would leave him with Coricopat. "Will you be heading home for the night?" he asked the mottled tom.

The lawyer nodded slightly, "I was intending to, yes."

"Oh," he said and realized he had no follow up. Rising, he considered the crowds and how quickly he should leave.

The mottled tom rose as Pouncival slipped out of the box, "I...had best be on my way."

"Probably," Mistoffelees said and it would have been wisest to leave it there. "Though you seem less inclined to be honest now."

Coricopat's ears went back at that, "How do you mean?"

"Well, from before. You've barely spoken all night."

"I...Was quite honest the last time we spoke, and…" he shrugged.

"And?" Mistoffelees asked. "Did you use it all up or something?"

"And I saw nothing which required candid frankness tonight."

"Ah," he said, glancing down.

The lawyer's ears flickered uncertainly, "Is...everything alright?"

Mistoffelees finally met his eyes. "Besides everything? Certainly."

"I...my apologies. I should be going," his gaze darted away, toward the curtain that separated the box from the corridor outside

"You know the thing I never did quite figure out was why," Mistoffelees continued.

"Why what?"

"Why you were honest with me. Why you were in..." he couldn't quite say the word, gesturing instead.

"Are." Coricopat corrected, "Not were."

Mistoffelees considered him a long moment before dropping his eyes. "Ah."

Coricopat's ears flickered at that reaction, "I...really do need to bid you a good evening."

"Right, of course," Mistoffelees said, looking down.

"Will you be alright getting to your accommodations?"

"Getting a cab outside a theatre should hardly be difficult, I'm not helpless."

"I never meant to imply that you were," came the almost sharp response.

Mistoffelees managed not to point out in every other way possible he really was but nodded, heading for the door rather than attempting to say anything else. Most of the crowd was already gone and it was a relief to be outside.

Coricopat's ears lay back a bit, but he followed the young nobleman into the foyer, hesitating for a moment before moving to stand at Mistoffelees' side, "Is something further the matter?"

Glancing at him Mistoffelees arched a brow. "Further? Isn't everything else more than enough?"

"You seem more...I don't know, perhaps so."

"More?" Mistoffelees asked.

"Nothing. It's nothing."

"No, you might as well finish what you started," Mistoffelees shrugged.

"Quiet? Bitter? Insistent? Maybe a combination of all three."

Mistoffelees glanced up at him. "There's the honesty. I was kicked out of my house by my uncle who still hasn't spoken to me, leaving my cousin alone in an engagement that will only be painful, and I've had the fact thrown in my face. Beyond which, there's you."

The lawyer's ears flickered again, "Me?"

"Yes, you," the smaller said, looking away again. "You said you were, are, do have feelings for me and yet on every other occasion you've done your best to inform me the terrors of dreamers. I just don't understand you."

"I..." He looked around, "This is hardly the place to have this conversation."

"Did you have another place in mind?" Mistoffelees asked, eyebrows arched.

"I...Not in public? We could...share a cab?"

"Alright," the black tom agreed, tail swishing behind him.

Coricopat motioned to the door of the theatre, "Shall we?"

Considering him, the baron's heir nodded, hailing the first cab he saw.


	13. You Said You Loved Me

Coricopat waited for the other to enter the cab before stepping inside as well, "Where are you staying?"

Sighing, Mistoffelees told him the address. It wasn't the most expensive place to stay in London, but it was a large enough room for him.

The lawyer relayed it to the cabbie and then settled in for the ride, "Now, where were we?"

"You, I think," the shorter tom replied, shoulders tense.

The mottled tom sighed, "I don't know how much to tell you, or even where to begin, and frankly I'm not certain how much is your business at this point in time."

"You said you loved me," Mistoffelees said finally.

"And I do."

"That's what I'm trying to actually understand," the smaller looked out the window.

The mottled tom's ears flickered, "I don't understand what you mean by that."

"Well, it's just..." Mistoffelees rolled his shoulders. "Why would you love me?" He did not mean to sound quite so much like a needy kit but he couldn't wrap his mind around it.

"Why wouldn't I? You're charming, encourage my bad habit of speaking my mind, kind when you want to be, and intelligent. Not to mention the tact which you're capable of showing when you so choose," Coricopat replied, voice even but quiet.

"Also bitter, insistent and a dreamer," Mistoffelees replied, not looking at him.

"You've said it yourself, I'm bitter as well. Insistent isn't a bad thing. I... although I do have opinions on the lasting state of dreams, it's hardly a reason for me not to love you."

"If you don't think passion can last," Mistoffelees started and paused. "Then how could you ever expect someone to love you back?"

Coricopat removed his hat to run a paw through his headfur, "I don't expect you to love me back. And there are times where passion has lasted, I just have yet to experience such a time."

The smaller cat was silent for a long time. "What if I do?"

The mottled tom's ears flickered back at that, "What?"

"What if I do?" Mistoffelees repeated.

"Then we're both out of our minds and I have no idea as to our next step," he spoke before he thought through what he was saying

Mistoffelees' look was far from being actually impressed and he looked out the window for a moment, considering the street they were on as much as trying to look away. He hesitated another moment before shifting so he was on the same side of the cab as Coricopat.

The lawyer sighed, not looking at the other, even as he watched him move to sit beside him, "I didn't mean that as it sounded. I don't know what if you do. I have no answer for you."

Considering him another moment, Mistoffelees reached out a hand, gently tugging Coricopat's face around toward him. The mottled tom swallowed, turning his head to look at the other cat, "I-I..."

Taking a breath rather than responding, Mistoffelees leaned in and kissed the other, trying the motion out. Startling, Coricopat nearly drew back, but kept himself steady and carefully, hesitantly, pressed fractionally into the kiss. Aware they were doing this in a cab that was probably going to reach its destination sooner rather than later, Mistoffelees tilted his head at that, shifting closer.

Coricopat's arm wrapped around the other cat's waist, drawing him closer as he leaned down into the kiss, half aware that the horses were already slowing.

Drawing back, Mistoffelees' eyes were wide. "Should..."

Coricopat swallowed, pulling back, "We're nearly to your hotel. I...we..." Brows arching, Mistoffelees waited to see if he was going to finish. "I've no idea. We need to talk more, but we can hardly get out at the same place."

"It's not that uncommon for people to visit each other," Mistoffelees replied, not having moved back much. "So long as you leave."

"You wish me to be seen with you at a hotel where it could get back to society? I...suppose it's true that cats visit one another all the time."

Mistoffelees shrugged as the carriage stopped. "It's up to you."

Coricopat hesitated for another long moment before stepping out of the carriage and waiting for Mistoffelees on the sidewalk. The smaller tom slipped out, paying the cab driver before turning for the hotel, entering it and heading up the stairs to his room in one extended motion.

The lawyer followed him quietly, waiting until they were in the room before speaking, "We have to be out of our minds."

"It's perfectly reasonable that I would be seen with a lawyer considering the issues with my uncle," Mistoffelees said, going to the sideboard of the living area for a glass of water.

"That wasn't what I meant and you well know it," Coricopat responded.

"No," Mistoffelees agreed, leaning against the sideboard hard. "Anything to drink?"

"Water, please," the mottled tom murmured, leaning against one of the walls with a heavy sigh. Mistoffelees poured the second glass and held it out to him. "Thank you." He drew a deep breath, "I don't know what to tell you."

"For a lawyer, you're not terribly good with words," Mistoffelees sighed, looking down and taking a sip of the water he held. "One of us should have some answers."

"I'm a solicitor. I spend far more of my time working with papers than with spoken words. And answers to what questions is the problem."

"Point." There was a pause. "What are we going to do? What should we do?"

"Well, we evidently can't go back to how we were and what we were doing. We also can't really meet without cause, one can only encounter another accidentally so many times. What we  _should_  do is walk away, though I don't know if I have the strength to do that."

"You don't?" the Baron's heir asked faintly.

"I might, but considering the last time I tried you showed up on my doorstep and found out exactly how I feel about you? I don't know how well it would work for both of us."

"I don't think I would have reason to show up on your doorstep like that again," Mistoffelees replied, looking away.

"Do we think we'd be able to both walk away?"

"I don't know," the smaller replied and paused. "I, I just, I think I love you. It's certainly something I haven't felt before. But... I don't trust you."

Coricopat paused before nodding, "I know what you mean, to some extent. Though may I ask why?"

Mistoffelees glanced away. "If I give you my heart, what happens?"

"I consider it the greatest gift I've ever been given and I treasure it as such. I guard it, and I do my best not to hurt it." He paused for a long moment, "Though it feels a bit late to ask you, what happens if I give you mine?"

Mistoffelees gaped at him, shock evident in his features and pose. "Do you promise?" he asked, not answering the other's question yet.

"I promise it to the best of my ability."

"B-because I tried giving it to someone before and I got it handed back scorched," he said quietly and paused, biting his lip. "I-I would try to keep yours safe, and give it someplace to come back to."

Coricopat looked at the other for a long moment, "I've been there. I gave my heart away unconditionally to have it returned battered and bruised. We will have a long road ahead of us, both of us."

Blinking rapidly, Mistoffelees looked down at his glass again. "S-suppose so."

"If we choose to continue with this, of course," the lawyer corrected himself softly.

"Do you?" Mistoffelees asked. "Choose to?"

"I..." He nodded very slightly, his gaze dropping to the glass of water in his paw.

Swallowing, Mistoffelees set the glass down before it was obvious his paws were shaking.

The mottled tom glanced at him, "A-and you?"

"If I never saw you again," Mistoffelees said. "I might be able to manage a half normal attempt at a half normal life. But tonight seeing you was more like a punch in the gut and I couldn't bear it." A pause. "I want this."

Coricopat swallowed, "How on earth are we to do this?"

"I don't know."

"God..." he sighed.

Hesitating Mistoffelees finally left the side board, stepping closer to the other and looking up at him. "Can I...?"

Coricopat set his water glass down, "Y-yes."

Still hesitating, Mistoffelees finally rested his paws on Coricopat's chest, feeling his heart beat a moment before lifting on his toes and kissing the mottled tom gently.

Coricopat leaned down, as much to make the kiss easier on Mistoffelees as to lean into it slightly. He hesitated before one of his arms snaked around the other tom's waist. Arms wrapping around the back of Coricopat's neck, Mistoffelees pressed further into the kiss. The mottled tom's free paw moved to rest against Mistoffelees' cheek as he tilted his head further into the kiss.

Tail curling behind him, Mistoffelees drew back for a breath, burying his nose in Coricopat's neck. The lawyer's paw moved up to stroke gently over Mistoffelees' headfur, "I...God..."

The smaller cat smiled faintly, tail swishing and hitting Coricopat in the leg. "I love you."

"I love you too," he smiled slightly, his own tail swaying back and forth, "So very much."

Mistoffelees laughed faintly, clinging closer. "This has been done before..."

"It has, yes. And we'll find a way to make it work," Coricopat's tail settled enough to twine around the other's calf. Mistoffelees startled and glanced down at that. The mottled tom swallowed, carefully untangling his tail, "Sorry."

"It was fine," Mistoffelees said, running a paw over Coricopat's headfur, pausing before gently petting his ear. His ear twitched as his tail wrapped around Mistoffelees' leg again. He leaned into the touch, his own paw moving to caress the other's cheek.

Mistoffelees shifted in that, unused to being so entangled with someone else. Coricopat's paw paused in its motion. Leaning up entirely on his toes, Mistoffelees kissed the tip of Coricopat's ear. "I'm not used to this," he admitted.

The ear twitched, "It's...been a long time since I have been."

"Oh," he said. "Well..."

Coricopat offered him a faint smile before trailing a paw over Mistoffelees' ear.

"What are we going to do?" he asked. "If I stay here, if I move back to my uncle's. We can't be obvious."

"I...we will have to figure that out."

"One of us has to have a suggestion," the black tom murmured.

"I wasn't even certain you felt the same way until just a few minutes ago," the taller protested softly.

"I think I do," he said. "I mean, I love you, but it might be the same love you feel it's hard to tell..." he paused and took a breath.

"But it is love?"

"It is," Mistoffelees replied, faces close together.

"We'll...need to find a way to meet. Someplace or places, times, some way to agree to see one another for some pretense or other."

"If you're my lawyer..." Mistoffelees breathed. "That's one excuse. It is not a mark of disfavor for two men to be friends, seen in public."

"Granted, but we can hardly spend too much time alone, the two of us. Sometime certainly, and I don't know how much I can dance around what I think in conversations," he sighed. The shorter nodded, hands cupping the back of the other's neck. "We'll figure it out, though," Coricopat added at the touch.

"Alright," he sighed, and leaned up to kiss the mottled tom again.

The lawyer pressed down into the kiss, his arms tightening to draw Mistoffelees closer still. Tail curling again, Mistoffelees paused before he allowed the tail to wrap around Coricopat's leg.

The taller cat's breath hitched, one of his paws running down the other's spine as his own tail tightened slightly around the younger tom's leg. The black furred tom jumped at that, squeaking. The paw stilled in its motion, Coricopat drawing back a bit, "Sorry."

"That was, just unexpected."

"Still. I'm sorry."

"It wasn't... bad," Mistoffelees admitted after a moment.

The mottled tom's brow rose slightly, "You're sure?"

Pausing, Mistoffelees nodded, leaning back into the kiss and slowly stroked his own paw down Coricopat's back. The older cat arched at the touch, making a soft noise in the back of his throat as his paw traced over the shell of Mistoffelees' ear before settling to focus on the base of it.

That got another squeak as Mistoffelees got distracted-though he wanted to peruse that noise Coricopat had just made. Coricopat smirked into the kiss, continuing his ministrations on Mistoffelees' ear, his other paw trailing down to scratch at the base of the smaller tom's tail.

"That," Mistoffelees breathed, breaking back. "You..."

"Hm?"

The smaller swallowed hard. "D-do you have to go back?"

"I-I...the clerk may have seen us," Coricopat managed.

"So that would be a yes then?" Mistoffelees asked.

"It's an I probably should."

"Probably?" Mistoffelees was determined to be of no help.

"I don't want to."

"I don't want you to either."

The lawyer hesitated, "I could probably stay..."

"If you did, what would," he paused and swallowed. "Happen?"

"I-I'm not certain..."

"We, got to," he breathed. "Will eventually have to have some sort of answer."

"Do you have one?"

"Not yet," he replied. "I was hoping to follow your lead."

Coricopat swallowed, "So I have to have some idea of where I'm going then?"

"It would be useful," Mistoffelees said, smiling faintly, teasing.

"Do I get any input from you?" Coricopat murmured, brows arching.

"At the moment?" Mistoffelees asked. "On?"

"What happens if I stay?"

"Not to completely evade the question but, what would you want to happen?"

The mottled tom's ears flickered, "I...am hardly having thoughts that are anything but indecorous."

"No cat else is here," Mistoffelees replied, tilting his face back slightly.

"I-I suppose that's true..." Mistoffelees' paws slipped down around Coricopat's waist. The mottled tom swallowed again, "What would you want to happen?"

"I asked, first," Mistoffelees protested.

"I..." His gaze darted toward the door to the bedroom of the suite.

"You?" Mistoffelees felt not inclination to let him get away without answering, before he glanced at the door himself and swallowed.

"Do you really want me to voice it?"

"Yes," Mistoffelees said finally.

"I...That is..." He drew a deep breath, "I would wish to spend the night, by your side, in bed. Making love to you if you have no objections, simply holding you if you do."

Hazel eyes wide, Mistoffelees looked up at him for a long moment before pulling Coricopat closer by the waist and kissing him soundly. The mottled tom startled at that, but leaned into the kiss, his tail twining around Mistoffelees' leg again as he pulled him flush against him, one of his paws coming to rest on the smaller cat's hip.

"I want you to stay," Mistoffelees replied. "But I... I'm scared too."

"I know," Coricopat murmured. "I...I know."

"I just," Mistoffelees swallowed. "Tomorrow..."

"Tomorrow?"

"That's what I'm scared of," Mistoffelees said after a moment, but not expanding on exactly why.

Coricopat motioned to a couch to one side, "Shall we sit? And you're going to have to give me more of an explanation of what exactly you fear about tomorrow."

His eyes widened. "I-I do?" he asked, sitting down on the couch, though he hadn't fully disentangled from Coricopat.

"Mistoffelees, I can hardly read your mind. There are things that have me concerned about tomorrow as well, but what goes on in your head is hardly something I know."

The smaller tom glanced away. "Do you remember when I said I wasn't sure I trusted you yet?" The mottled tom nodded, his tail uncoiling to settle behind him. "If you walked away tomorrow, if this didn't survive the night it would be better but I don't, I don't want that to happen. I don't care how much easier it would be."

"I'm not planning to walk away in the morning. No matter how much easier it would be. I wouldn't do that to you."

"I don't believe you yet," Mistoffelees replied though he kissed him again gently.

Coricopat drew back very slightly from the kiss this time, "I know. You never did answer my question."

"I thought I did," he replied with a small frown.

"What you would want to happen? No, you told me that you had asked first."

"Oh, that question," he swallowed again, forcing himself too look up and meet the other's eyes. "Tonight, I want you to stay. I feel over saturated with you already and I want to take advantage of that."

"I'm planning to stay, it's up to you where I stay, be it on the lounge, or with you."

Mistoffelees shifted to entwine himself around the other. "I want to feel you. Part of me even wants to... know one way or the other."

Coricopat swallowed at that, "I-I see."

"You do?" Mistoffelees asked, chin tilting up slightly as he considered the other.

"I think so? I don't know. This entire evening feels a bit hazy, to be honest."

The black tom laughed softly. "Oh. I remember bits from the play, but those were mostly before you showed up. I still can't believe you... I'm waiting for someone to tell me it's a joke."

Coricopat swallowed again, "It's no joke. I...I love you, but Cat I'm terrified at the same time."

"What scares you so much?" Mistoffelees asked. "Besides, infamy and prison and scandal I mean. It's been done before."

"I fear it won't last. I want it to, more than I think I've wanted anything before. But at some point, for some reason, it will end. Whether because one of us walks away, or because something happens to one of us. Nothing lasts."

"Why can't it?"

"How can it?" the mottled tom replied.

"Who exactly did that to you?" Mistoffelees asked. "To make you say that?"

"I've seen it happen. Even the most passionate love affairs end, whether through the voluntary choice of one or both of the participants or the loss of one of them. I..." He shook his head, "God, I'm maudlin tonight." Mistoffelees shifted forward, placing a hand on Coricopat's cheek. The mottled tom leaned slightly into the touch, "How much of this do you truly wish to hear?"

"All of it," he replied quietly.

Coricopat moved away slightly, so they were not quite touching. "Cat...it's been ten years. But, honestly I'm going to have to start a bit before that, and please bear with me, this isn't going to appear to relate, quite yet…"

"Alright," Mistoffelees frowned at him slightly. "That's alright."

He drew a deep breath and began, "My sister, Tantomile, and I were, well, to put it simply we were always close. She was my twin, my first friend, even when we went our own ways for education and the like as we grew older we kept in contact, and continued as one another's confidants. She and a good friend of mine fell in love, deeply in love. She was a dreamer, but oh the dreams she painted," he smiled sadly.

"I didn't always agree with them, but the fire in her eyes when she spoke of women's rights, and the benefits they could have on society kept me listening. She... she was a powerful young queen, as I said a dreamer, but one who could pull anycat into her dream so long as they would hear her out. Ten years ago she contracted an illness due to a particular rally she attended."

The mottled tom shook his head, "She never recovered. My sister, twin, confidant, strong support, suddenly wasn't there. She never saw her dreams come to fruition. She never saw what could have been between herself and the tom she loved-though I saw what it did to him in the following years. He's recovered, but shortly after it happened I wasn't certain of that fact. Even with that, I couldn't give up hope and dreams. She, if she had left me nothing else she had left me the knowledge that even the unachievable should be faced and hoped for. I can say that part of my fear of dreaming goes back to then, and passion as well-having seen what happened to my friend when he lost her."

As the mottled tom continued to talk Mistoffelees kept his eyes on the other's face, though he listened to the tale quietly, trying to swallow down most of his reactions to it.

"Not long after Tantomile's death I...well I fell in love. There's no other term for it. It was with another tom, Franklin. He was nice enough, though he had moments where I wasn't sure what to make of him at all. It lasted for far less time than I hoped at the time, but I'm surprised it lasted as long as it did, looking back now. He never did love me, I was an amusement, a pass-time. I'm not certain that everyone around him isn't an amusement and a toy for Franklin to play with-I just happened to be the newest one at that time."

Coricopat sighed, shaking his head again, "It was after that, running so close on the heels of losing Tant, that I swore I wouldn't dream again, that passion was dead to me. I'd built dreams of my own, and I'd seen my sister weave her own, only to see them all fail. I'd watched my friend's heart break, and felt my own shatter. I swore I wouldn't dream, I wouldn't find passion again. And then  _you_  walked down those stairs and it all went out the window. Suddenly I want to dream again, suddenly I'm honest with someone like I haven't been without Macavity forcing it from me in ten years. Suddenly I find myself in love, beyond what I thought possible all those years ago." He looked into the other cat's eyes, "I do love you, but I'm so very hesitant to continue down this path."

"And I thought..." Mistoffelees swallowed the rest of the statement down, reaching his paws forward to take both of Coricopat's. "Thank you."

The mottled tom's ears flickered, "Thought...? And I've hardly done anything worthy of thanks."

"You were honest with me," Mistoffelees replied. "You even trusted me."

"I...could hardly be otherwise."

"Still," he said quietly.

"…You're welcome then."

Tilting forward, Mistoffelees kissed him lightly. The mottled tom hesitated, but gently returned the kiss, his arms slipping around the other to draw him nearer.

"Nothing you can't and don't want," Mistoffelees murmured. "But please stay."

"I will stay," Came the quiet reply. "And the same goes to you, nothing you can't and don't want."

"I want you," he replied simply.

"I...are you sure?"

"Yes," he replied, possibly the most sure answer he had given his entire life.

The mottled tom leaned in and kissed the other again, one paw moving to rest on Mistoffelees' hip. Shifting closer, the black tom entwined himself around the other. Coricopat made a soft noise at that, his free paw tracing down the other's spine.

Arching into that, Mistoffelees drew back. "Stay the night in my bed?"

The solicitor swallowed, but nodded, "If you want me to."

"Please," he murmured.

Coricopat kissed him lightly, "Very well."


	14. Before Anyone Notices

The next morning Mistoffelees blinked his eyes open, registering the other weight on the bed next to him and froze for a long moment before his brain caught up and he just about melted back into the bed. Turning his head, he considered how much light was coming through the curtains.

Coricopat woke a few minutes later, his gaze darting about as he tried to reorient himself with his surroundings. It took a moment, but he finally shifted enough so he could look at the cat beside him, "Good morning."

"Morning," Mistoffelees murmured, turning on his side and burrowing against the other. "You should leave soon. It's still early."

The mottled tom, nodded, his arm moving to wrap around the younger tom, "I really should, before anyone notices."

Even though he'd said it, the younger tom was busy seeing how much of himself he could wrap around the other. "I don't want you to have to."

Coricopat had no real motivation to move at the moment, more than content to let Mistoffelees twine himself around him, "I would rather not have to as well, but we can hardly make it so by wishing."

"No, I suppose not," he murmured. The solicitor leaned down and kissed the tip of Mistoffelees' ear. "I love you," he murmured, even as his ear flickered to get away. "I was afraid I wouldn't say that again in the morning but I do."

"And I love you as well. I'm glad you can still say that this morning, and I'm glad I can as well," he ran his paw through the other's tousled headfur.

The smaller smiled faintly. "Hopefully not for the same reason, but I'm glad."

"I doubt it is." He sighed as a mantle clock chimed in the other room, "I really do have to be going soon..."

"I don't want you to go."

"I don't want to go, but I can hardly stay any longer today."

"Alright," Mistoffelees said, kissing him again hard.

The mottled tom startled slightly at that before pressing into the kiss, pulling Mistoffelees closer as he deepened the kiss.

"You should go," Mistoffelees murmured finally.

Coricopat nodded, finally starting to untangle himself from the other, "I should."

Mistoffelees sighed, falling back against the bed for a moment, watching the other.

The lawyer carefully got dressed, making certain he looked at lest mostly put together. His grey gaze darted to the other, "I still say we're out of our minds."

"We are," Mistoffelees assured him with a soft smile.

He smoothed his shirt out as much as he could before pulling on his vest and jacket, "I'm not sure I mind it tough."

"I'm glad of that," Mistoffelees said, rising from the bed and smoothing Coricopat's shoulders out. "At least you have your hat."

The mottled tom's brow rose at that, "Yes...what does-oh, that first time you came by my flat I assume?"

"Yes," he said and smiled. "One of my friends found me that day on my way home."

"How did that go?" Coricopat asked in some surprised.

"Quite well. He let me into his carriage and dropped me off home," Mistoffelees smiled faintly.

"Well, that was kind of him," came the quiet response.

"Yes," the smaller leaned up to kiss the other lightly.

Coricopat's arm moved around Mistoffelees' waist as he returned the kiss for a moment, "I love you."

"Good," he murmured, tilting his head back.

"I will see you around."

"You had better," Mistoffelees laughed softly.

The lawyer chuckled and leaned down to kiss the other briefly again.

"Go," Mistoffelees murmured, pushing at his chest lightly. "Or I won't let you."

He offered a faint smile before picking up his hat and overcoat and slipping out of the room. The suite door was heard closing a moment later. Sighing, Mistoffelees plopped back down onto the bed.

v.v.v.v

Coricopat entered the offices of Bailey and Co the following Monday. He was far more relaxed than he had been in a while, not quite to the point of humming under his breath, but close. He wove his way over to the filing cabinet and withdrew his current case file before settling at his desk to get started.

Macavity swept in a few moments later, and looked the other over. "You look cheerful," he remarked. "Good plays don't make you this happy."

"It was an excellent play and a good evening besides," came the reply, Coricopat not looking up from his work.

"Good evening, huh?"

"Yes?"

"Anything in particular?" Mac asked, eyebrows arching as he flipped through his own file.

"Not of import to you?" Coricopat attempted.

Macavity gave him a long look. "And that has worked... when exactly?"

He glanced toward Bailey's office, seeing the door firmly closed, "I ran into him at the theatre."

"Him? Him of the small Quaxo variety?"

"Mhm," Coricopat nodded, not offering any more information.

"Which makes you cheerful?" Macavity's brows inched higher.

"It was a good play, we talked afterwards."

"You talked?" Macavity looked doubtful.

"Yes."

"About?" Macavity pressed. "Cause last I checked that was the last thing you wanted to do."

"Our previous conversation."

"Previous...?" Macavity blinked again. "Alright, no more side stepping questions Cor. What did you talk about and why are you so damn happy?"

"We...that is...We came to the conclusion that we are both in love with each other-though God knows we're out of our minds-and we're going to find some way to make this work."

The other cat's jaw dropped. "You're kidding."

His partner shook his head, "No."

"But, you, surely..." Macavity blinked again. "What are you going to do?"

"We're going to take it a day at a time. It's not unheard of for two men to be friends, socially, and his uncle does still employ our firm."

Pausing, Macavity slowly nodded. "And you two are alright?"

"What do you mean, Mac?"

"With each other. I mean, sometimes you two have your arguments and the like. Which is what started this entire mess in the first place actually.

"We've both got our own insecurities, but I think we should be able to work through them. For my part I want to, and if he was being honest with me he does as well," Coricopat glanced up from the papers he was vaguely skimming.

"Huh," Macavity shook his head. "I never thought I'd see the day..."

"What?"

"You again. Being passionate. Being with someone."

"It's different this time," came the quiet response.

"I hope so," Macavity sighed. "And I hope he's worth it."

"He is," Coricopat replied firmly.

"Good," Macavity nodded, considering the other again.

"Anything else, Mac?"

"Naw," he said, shaking his head. "Just working on realigning my entire world, give me a second."

"Alright," he turned back to his work again.

"Just be careful," Macavity murmured, glancing down at his own work.

"We will be, Mac."

"Good," he murmured, scribbling something down on his paper.

v.v.v.v

Tumblebrutus slipped through the theatre, entering the backstage area and asking one of the stage hands to fetch Miss Forrester or direct him to her.

Moments later, the queen in question appeared. "Mr. Carpenter. What can I do for you?"

He withdrew a letter from his coat pocket, offering it to her, "Pouncival sends his regrets that he couldn't come tonight. He asked me to deliver this."

Her eyes widened slightly and she took the letter quickly, skimming it over. "Can you possibly wait while I compose a reply, sir?" she asked softly, turning her large eyes on him.

He almost declined, but finally nodded, "Of course, Miss."

"Thank you, sir," she said happily, offering him a gentle smile before scurrying off.

He watched her go, glancing around and retreating to stand near one of the walls, leaning against it as the back-stage hustle and bustle moved past him.

Coming around a corner, Tugger paused as the bustle calmed down. Since the production was not for a little while yet, there were plenty of last minute things to be seen to, but there was space enough. "Well, look who's here," he said, coming up behind the other's shoulder. "Hello, Tumble."

The young noble startled, turning, "M-Mr. Hollister."

"So formal," Tugger grinned. "Whatever brings you here?"

"I...don't think that's a-any of your c-concern."

"Well, maybe not," Tugger shrugged. "But if you have time..."

"I-if I have time, wh-what?"

"I don't know," Tugger shrugged, smirking slightly. "Anything you like to do lurking in the dark of the theatre?"

"I-I'm just w-waiting for Miss F-Forrester to finish a l-letter."

Tugger tilted his head, considering the other for a long moment. "Are you okay?"

"Of course. Wh-why wouldn't I be?"

"Nevermind," Tugger grinned. The stammer had concerned him for a moment. "You ever dance then, Tumble?"

"Wh-what?" He looked up at the other tom, his eyes wide.

"Do you dance?" Tugger replied. "Not those court dances either. Have you ever let yourself dance?"

"I-I can waltz?" he offered, still confused.

"Well, there's this new dance style coming out of Argentina," Tugger said. "But so few cats wanna do it it's hard to practice."

"I-I..." Tumble shook his head, "I h-have no idea what you're t-talking about."

"Well," Tugger turned around, taking one of his paws and holding it up. "I want to practice dancing. That clear enough for you?"

The smaller tom startled, tensing immediately, "I-I don't know th-this dance..."

"I can teach it to you," Tugger replied, arching a brow almost as if in a dare.

"I-I r-really should be g-going..."

"You don't have your letter yet," Tugger replied, pausing before pulling Tumble into the hold for this particular style of dance.

Tumble startled at that, his breath hitching, "I-I..."

"Yeah?" Tugger asked. "It's not a hard dance."

"H-here? Y-you want me t-to dance with y-you h-here?"

"Sure," Tugger replied. "You have somewhere else in mind?"

"N-no?" He remained tense, not quite pulling away but considering it.

"Relax," Tugger replied, considering the hold and how close the position put them. "It's a circular dance anyway."

"R-relax? H-How the devil a-am I supposed to d-do that?"

"Breathing's a good start," Tugger replied, grinning. "Now, when I go back, I'll start on my right foot and move your left back."

Tumble swallowed hard, but finally nodded, "I-I...A-all right."

"It's basic," Tugger promised, before going through the step.

Tumble followed, still far too tense for the dance, but at least he was following. "Relax," Tugger murmured again, repeating the basic a few times.

The smaller tom focused on trying to do so, following through the basic step and doing everything he could to ignore how very close the other was.

"Now, slide over," Tugger murmured, demonstrating the step, taking a few basics and then a quick step to the side, his second foot sliding along the floor after the first.

Tumble followed him, "Wh-where did you even l-learn this dance?"

"Me?" Tugger asked. "Some sailors. Why?"

"J-just curious."

Grinning, Tugger did a few more basics before suddenly doing a quarter turn, nearly lifting Tumble off the ground to pull them around quickly enough. The smaller tom gasped, tensing again from where he'd finally started to relax a good deal, "A-a bit of w-warning?"

Tugger just grinned at him, settling back into the basic. "There's a lot of fancy moves too."

"G-great, d-do you m-mind warning me b-before you try them?"

"Well, the fancier ones need you to match me, so I suppose the warning would have to come."

Tumble swallowed, and nodded slightly, "Wh-why not pull s-some other cat into th-this?"

"I don't know, you were here?" Tugger offered. "Besides, you just stammer and blush and agree to it."

"I-I don't r-remember to agreeing to th-this before we s-started."

"But you're doing it," Tugger pointed out. "Rather than smacking me in the chest and running away."

"I-I..." Damn it the other was right.

Tugger grinned. "Are you enjoying it?"

"I-I...s-suppose so..." His ears flickered uncertainly.

"See, the thing is even though you protest and blush and stammer, you're still here and you never actually seem angry by what I say," Tugger continued.

"S-so?" Tumble attempted.

"So, it's different," Tugger replied.

"D-different isn't a-always good."

Tumble blushed, hating his light fur for the moment, "I-I..."

"You?" Tugger asked, tilting his head down slightly.

"D-don't know. Y-you confuse m-me."

"Well, confuse is not the worst thing I could be doing," Tugger said. "How do I confuse you?"

"I-isn't c-confusion enough?"

"Well, what am I doing?" Tugger prodded.

"Y-you..." He started to try and draw away, "N-nothing I s-suppose." Tugger paused before letting him pull as far away as he liked. Tumble took a step back, "Th-this. Wh-why do this? Wh-why go on and on a-about S-socialism w-when it had to be obvious what class I was f-from? Wh-why come across a crowded t-tavern to say h-hello?"

"I go on about socialism to anycat who doesn't slap me across the face," Tugger said, brows raising. "As to the crowded tavern? What can I say, it was only polite. This? I don't know. To see if I could."

Tumble's ears lay back a bit, "Do y-you often do that?"

"Do what?"

"Do th-things just to s-see if you can?"

"Yeah," he said with a small shrug. "No cat lets me get away with them like you do though."

"I-I see," Tumble said with a slight frown.

"Do you?" Tugger asked, peering down at him and taking half a step closer.

"I-I...Y-yes?"

A traumatized squeak sounded from the side, and Tugger leaned back from where he'd been inching closer and closer to Tumble. Jemi was gaping at him, eyes huge. "Tugger! And after he was so nice as to wait for me to write a letter..."

Tugger shrugged gracefully, grinning at her. "Don't worry darling, I wasn't doing anything bad."

Tumble swallowed, taking a solid step back from Tugger, "M-miss F-Forrester, I take it t-to mean y-you've finished your letter?"

"Yes," she said, holding it out. "Thank you so much for staying for it." She shot Tugger a glare.

He took the letter, sliding it into the inner pocket of his coat, "O-of course. Good evening, and I h-hope the performance goes well th-this evening."

"Thank you," she beamed.

Tugger flicked off a lazy salute. "Thanks for the dance, Tumble."

He swallowed, nodding slightly, "O-of course. Good evening." He dipped a bit of a bow and beat a hasty retreat.

Tugger watched him for a long moment, Jemi still looking shocked. "Can't you be nice?" she begged.

"I was nice," Tugger replied, though he sounded distracted before shaking his head and bowing. "But now, m'lady I must be off."

Shaking her head, Jemima watched him leave, sighing softly.

v.v.v.v

Victoria descended the main staircase, she and her aunt were going to go out shopping for possible fabrics that afternoon. She reached the bottom of the stairs and paused at the sight of a ginger tabby in the foyer, "Good afternoon sir."

Fiddling with his gloves while waiting for somecat to tell him what to do, Macavity glanced up as offered her a broad smile. "Miss Jones," he greeted.

She dipped him a bit of a curtsey, "Mr. Hollister."

"It's good to see you again," Macavity said. "How have things been?"

"And you. Things have been going well enough. And yourself?"

"Life is life, and work is work," he replied with a small shrug.

"And they have been going well?"

"As well as can be expected," he replied. "Considering our cases got all switched around at the firm. I can only hope I give your father the same level of service."

"I'm certain you shall."

"Your vote of confidence is inspiring," he said with an incline of his head.

She inclined her head to him as well, "I assume you're here on business then?"

"Eventually, I hope," he said, glancing around. "No one has yet told me where to go or if he wants to deal with any business."

"I'm certain they shall soon."

"Honestly," the ginger tabby continued. "This is about the point I would half expect the nep-Mr, Quaxo to take over the business for the day."

Victoria's ears flickered back at that, "My cousin is not at home today."

He took note of the ear flicker. "Of course. You like your cousin then?" He really should not be prying but he could not help himself—and not just because he was naturally inclined to snoop but considering Cor he thought it might be extra relevant.

"He's a fine young tom."

"What a diplomatic answer," he grinned.

"I do like him, yes," she replied, trying not to sound testy.

"Sorry," he said, glancing around and laughing a bit nervously. "I suppose I'm not used to standing in such a grand place now knowing what to do with myself."

"I'm certain it shouldn't be much longer," she assured him quietly, her gaze darting toward the stairs.

"Hopefully not," he said, fiddling with his gloves still. "And where are you heading today if I may be so bold?"

"Out for an afternoon of shopping with my aunt," she replied softly.

"Shopping," he nodded. "That sounds... relaxing."

"It should be, yes," Victoria nodded slightly, though her ears flickered.

"Well, what are you two looking for today?" Macavity asked, genuinely curious as well as wanting a topic to keep his mind occupied.

"Just some fabrics for a gown."

"Any particular sort? I hear purple is fashionable this season," alright, so he might be inching toward babble.

"I...it's not that sort of a gown. And I don't think purple would suit in this situation."

"Oh," he said, brain processing. "Of course. I'm sure it will be quite a lovely gown when you are finished."

She blushed very slightly, "I do hope so." Her gaze drifted to the stairs again as her aunt finally descended them.

"Are you ready, Victoria?"

"Yes, Aunt."

Macavity arched a brow but took half a step back. Serafine's gaze moved to the tom, "Good afternoon, sir."

"Afternoon, m'lady," he replied, taking her paw and bowing to kiss the back of it.

Her brows arched at that, "May I enquire as to the cause of your visit?"

"Your brother," he started and realized that sounded wrong, squaring his shoulders. "I am the solicitor working for your brother, and have been left hanging in the foyer."

Sera nodded, "I see. Well, have you sent word up that you are here?"

"Yes," he replied, checking his watch. "Ten minutes ago."

"Give him another ten, and if you still haven't heard, stop the butler on his rounds to find out."

Pausing, Macavity nodded. "Thank you."

"Of course. Good afternoon to you, sir." She glanced at her niece, "Come along, Victoria, we should be on our way."

Macavity inclined his head. "It was lovely to meet you," he murmured.

"And you," Sera inclined her head to him.

Victoria offered him a faint smile and a bit of a curtsey, "Good day to you, Mr. Hollister."

"Miss Jones," he inclined his head, considering kissing the back of her paw as well but resisting. The two queens slipped out to get into the carriage that was waiting in front of the house. Sighing, Macavity returned to his gloves, waiting for Jones to stoop to call the solicitor into his presence.


	15. Disturbs the Peace

Bowing her way off the stage, Bombalurina ran a paw through her carefully arranged locks, pulling her hair down from its constricted style. She was just glad to be done for the night.

Munkustrap managed to locate the entrance to the backstage area and slipped back into the exhausted chaos that was a post-play clean up. He glanced around the area, finally catching a stagehand as the cat scurried past him, asking for direction to where Miss Harris was. The smaller cat pointedhim int he right direction and then continued on whatever errand he had been in the midst of.

The queen was considering the pros and cons of just going home in her costume, but that would probably be a bad idea. She changed quickly before exiting the room, saying good nights to a few other cats and turning for the door. She paused when she noticed the silver tabby in the hallway.

He touched the brim of his hat to her, "Good evening, Miss."

"Mr. Hollister," she replied. "However did you find your way back here?"

"It took a couple of questions of the ushers and stagehands," he answered honestly.

Her brows arched gracefully. "Oh? And to what purpose do we owe such a visit?"

"In all honesty? I came to tell you that that was a very good performance, and congratulate you upon it."

Her brows inched higher. "Really now, sir?"

He nodded, "Yes, miss. Really."

"It seems like quite a bit of effort," she said and considered. "If you don't mind taking some more, perhaps you would not mind walking me home? I'm tired."

He considered before inclining his head, "I don't mind. Though you'll have to pardon me if I only see you to the front stoop, I'm not certain I'm in a state to deal with my brother tonight."

She laughed at that, a twinkling sound. "I'm not sure I can deal with your brother tonight, so I accept your terms."

Munkus offered her a smile at that, "Shall we then?"

"Yes," she said, stepping up beside him and then toward the back exit.

He fell into step beside her, "Do you enjoy your work?"

She tilted her head toward him. "A rather blunt question, sir. The answer is, most nights."

His ears flickered, "My apologies, it's been a long day of tripping around the issues at hand and being blunt."

She offered him a wary smile. "Yes, I can see how your profession might lend to that."

The tabby glanced at her in mild surprise, "Did Tugger tell you then?"

"Of course," she replied, one eyebrow inching up. "I have lived in his house for four years. His brothers were a common enough topic."

"And here, when we ever talk among ourselves you would think we'd be the last things he'd speak of," the silver tabby shook his head.

"Well, I never said it wasn't him barging in after dinner and ranting for an hour," she said with a faint teasing smile.

Munkustrap chuckled, "See, that? That I would expect."

"It's not always that way," she replied. "Just sometimes. Sometimes I think he just likes hearing his own voice. Others I think he genuinely cares about the pair of you, even if you frustrate him to tears some days."

The silver tabby nodded slightly, "We're brothers, no matter what. I worry about him, if I'm honest."

"As perhaps you should," she said with another faint smile. "But he keeps himself mostly out of trouble."

"That's reassuring to hear," the tabby offered her a bit of a smile.

She laughed softly again. "You're too overbearing," she scolded. "He actually is quite harmless. If he was the type to be an effective revolutionary he would have done it already. He's passionate but there's nothing really that he's fighting for. No cause to really rally himself around."

"I'm not certain that was as comforting as it was meant to be. I've seen what happens when cats think that there's some sort of disturbance of the peace going on," he shook his head, "perhaps I am overbearing, but I hardly know how to be different in that regard."

"I just meant, I think you over react to what he does," she said, waving a paw around before her. "Alright, I will, however, give you that he disturbs the peace."

"And that is all I ask him to avoid doing, simply for the sake of his own skull if nothing else. There are plenty of cats who aren't as forgiving of ideas that don't run concurrent with their own."

She shrugged. "That's where you become overbearing. Protective, yes, but he's not the cat that sits home around the fire. He has to be out thinking he's doing something or you might as well lock him up."

"I suppose it's too much to ask him to find a less concerning cause?" Munkus asked, glancing at her.

"It is," she assured him. "He's the type who relishes a fight. Be glad he didn't join a military."

"I don't think any of us would touch the military or the navy with a ten foot pole."

Laughing lightly, she nodded. "No, I doubt you would. But at least this means he stays mostly at home."

"This is true. It could be a good deal worse, I suppose."

"It could. Be thankful for what you have," she mock scolded him.

He chuckled, "Believe it or not, I am."

Her face actually lit up in a warm smile at that, pulling her shawl higher around her shoulders as they walked. "Good. So few are."

He glanced at her, "Are you warm enough?"

"Yes," she replied. "Well, I'm chronically cold. No more than usual then is the correct answer."

The tabby considered her quietly, "Alright, as long as you're sure."

"Why, were you going to offer me your coat?" she asked, arching a brow.

He shrugged, "If you were in need of it."

"What a gentleman," she murmured, glancing away.

That earned a faint frown, but he didn't pursue it, "How did you come to be living with Tugger, if you don't mind me asking."

"Your brother," she declared. "Likes to be the white knight on a pretty horse, running in to the rescue."

The silver tabby smiled wryly, "Allow me to let you in on a secret: it's a trait all three of us share to differing degrees. Am I allowed to enquire as to what he did to cause you to diagnose him as such?"

"Your family concerns me greatly in that case," she murmured and fell silent for a moment. "He swept in when a queen was not only in danger of starving and freezing, but being pressured by all those around her to distasteful things. He offered me a place to stay without expecting anything from me. The first tom to ever do so."

Munkustrap's smile turned fond, "That does sound like Tugger."

She nodded. "Yes. It is rather like him."

"Do you enjoy living with him?"

"Usually," she replied. "There are hard days and there are easy days. The hard days are when he's absorbed in his work so much that he nearly sets the place on fire and has forgotten he was supposed to pick up groceries or days I can barely bear to move and all he can do is run the press. Good days are when the sun is out and he decides what we need to do is go boating and take a picnic along." She paused. "And then he falls into the river."

The last comment got a quiet laugh, "Please tell me he didn't actually do that...?"

"He did," she replied with a grin. "He was attempting to lecture the fish on an equal society. Or it might have been the lilipads, I forget which he thought had the best chance of an socialist utopia."

"Oh dear Lord," Munkus tried to suppress his grin at that.

She laughed. "It was a wonderful day, all told, even if we had to use three towels to get his mane dry later."

"Well, as long as it was a good day, then I'm sure that was worth it?"

"It was," she agreed, nodded.

"What do you do with your days, if you don't mind my asking, when Tugger is busy and considering that the theatre work I assume is mostly evening work?"

"Sleep," she replied. "And you assume the theatre is evening work? Clearly you have never been to a rehearsal."

He inclined his head, "True, my apologies."

She shook her head. "Nothing to apologize for, it simply is not the case. I sleep in the mornings, I knit some of the time, and I sing the rest."

"Sounds pleasant enough."

"It has its moments."

Munkus fell silent for much of the rest of their journey, stopping at the door to his brother's press, "Well, here we are."

"Thank you, my second knight in white armor, for walking me home," she said, turning and offering him a smile.

He smiled gently at her, "Of course. Thank you for letting me walk you home."

"You're welcome of that," she replied.

"Good evening to you, Miss Harris."

"Good evening, Mr. Hollister," she inclined her head before turning to open the door. He tipped his hat to her before slipping away, heading back to his flat.

v.v.v.v

Tumblebrutus handed his hat and coat to one of the employees at the club, his gaze sweeping over the toms settled in chairs around the room before lighting on a seat he might care to settle in. The young nobleman made his way through the room, wrinkling his nose at the different conversations he passed, but always offering a cordial smile if anyone actually noticed his presence. He finally reached the side of the cat he was aiming for, "Afternoon. Do you mind terribly if I join you?"

Mistoffelees waved a paw, seeming a little intent on his drink. "I wouldn't mind terribly," he said and looked up, actually offering Tumble a smile. "It's always good to see you."

The patched tom returned the smile, settling in the nearest chair, "And you. How have you been, Misto?"

"Honest answer or socially acceptable one?"

"If you keep your voice quiet, I'll take the honest one."

"Let's talk about you first," Mistoffelees said, shaking his head slightly. "How have you been?"

Tumble's ears flickered, "Now th-that's not fair. I asked first." He turned slightly to signal a waiter to bring his usual drink.

"Yes, you did," Mistoffelees replied with a faint smile. "I'm not feeling terribly fair today though. So, please, take my mind off myself and tell me about you." He missed Coricopat and felt a little pathetic and a good deal maudlin about it.

His friend offered him a faint frown in response, "I-I've been well enough."

"Really?" Mistoffelees glanced over. "Oh, don't frown at me."

"Yes, really, and I'll f-frown at you if I like," the almost kittenish response came.

"You can, but I'm curious why exactly you're frowning at me now."

"Because you turned my q-question back without answering it."

"Well, I didn't say I wasn't going to answer, I just wanted to hear about you."

"I'm doing well enough. Th-though Pounce made m-me act as c-courier the other night."

"Oh?" Mistoffelees asked, brows arching. "And that implies it was not well enough?"

"Does it? I suppose I just wish h-he wouldn't drag me into th-this."

"Well, true." Mistoffelees propped his chin up in one paw. "How'd that go?"

"W-well enough. Why wouldn't it?"

"Because you're stammering?" Mistoffelees offered.

"O-oh, that." Tumble shrugged, "Took more t-time than I expected?"

"Tumble," Mistoffelees pressed gently.

"Wh-what?"

"If you're not going to be honest with me, I have inclination to be honest with you," the smaller simply pointed out.

"Tugger Hollister w-was there."

"Is that a bad thing? Or was he just annoying?" Mistoffelees asked, turning his glass around on the table.

Tumble fell silent as the waiter approached and set his glass down on the table before retreating again. The patched tom took a sip before answering, "He taught me a dance."

"A dance?" Mistoffelees asked. "He knows how to dance?"

"A-apparently."

"Well what sort of dance?"

"S-south American," he focused his gaze on his drink, but could feel the blush tinting his pale cheeks.

"South...?" Mistoffelees arched a brow. "Alright, now I must demand details."

"I-it's from A-Argentina. I-I think it's called the t-tango?"

"Your stammer is getting progressively worse. What was the dance like?" Mistoffelees asked.

He swallowed, "C-closer than a w-waltz?"

"Closer than a..." Mistoffelees suddenly blushed. "A-and you let him?" A week or two ago, he might have managed to sound vaguely offended or shocked, but now all he could think about was Coricopat staying the night.

Tumble's blush deepened, his gaze still focused on the drink in his paw, "I-I...h-he didn't leave me m-much ch-choice to begin w-with."

"Slapping him across the face and running might have worked."

"I-I w-was waiting for a reply t-to Pounce's l-letter."

"Well, still," Mistoffelees murmured and paused. "Do you like him?"

"H-how do y-you mean?" Tumble finally darted a glance up to his friend.

"How do you mean, how do I mean? Do you like him or not?"

"He...c-confuses me."

"Yeah," Mistoffelees nodded. "Been there. But, I mean, do you mind spending time with him or do you just want to run the other way?"

"B-both?"

"Confusion it is," Mistoffelees murmured.

Tumble nodded, sighing, "I g-get tongue-t-tied...I actually s-stammered so much h-he asked if I was alright..."

Mistoffelees' eyes widened. "Why does he do that to you?" he asked, tilting his head.

"I-I don't know."

"Oh," Mistoffelees said, considering him. "Good to know there are people worse off than me," he murmured, looking back at his drink.

"Worse than...Wh-what do you mean?"

"Hm? Oh, nothing," he shook his head quickly.

"O-oh no you d-don't. You never told me h-how you've been."

"Oh, I haven't, have I...?"

"No y-you haven't," Tumble replied, voice a little firmer now the subject was drifting away from him.

"Well," he started and took a sip of the drink. "Life has been... hotel like."

"That tells m-me nothing."

"It tells you I'm still estranged from my uncle and living in a hotel," Mistoffelees replied. "Oh, and your cousin stopped by a few days ago. That was exciting."

"Oh dear...how did that go?"

"Worse than you could imagine," Mistoffelees sighed, looking away. "In the gist of him being an arrogant git who was enjoying the power the situation gave him."

"...Sounds like Plato."

"Made worse by the fact we were alone," Mistoffelees said.

"God..." Tumble shook his head, "So that's all of note then?"

"We'll... say those are the most pressing matters at hand," he replied.

Tumble's brow rose at that, "Which implies that they aren't."

"Well," he started and paused, considering the space around them and Tumble for a long moment. "It's mostly it?"

"If we share a cab departing will you let me in on the rest?" Mistoffelees blinked at him, and had to muffle a half hysterical laugh. "I'll take that as a no?"

"I'm sorry," he managed. "Sharing a cab was what technically got me into this..." He had no actual way of describing what he was in.

"O-oh?"

"Mhm," he managed, biting the inside of his lip hard.

"Do I get to hear this, or should I stop asking?"

"I'm still trying to process it," was the reply. "And... certainly not here."

"Alright," Tumble said, still watching his friend.

"Do you genuinely care to hear it?" Mistoffelees asked.

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't," Tumble answered softly.

"One of the few in society then," Mistoffelees murmured.

"How long are you planning to stay here?"

"I actually was simply trying to get out," he replied with a shrug.

Tumble nodded, "Why don't we take a ride to my home, you're welcome to stay to dinner if you like."

For a moment Mistoffelees actually had to consider that, weighing being in the same room as Tumble's mother before finally nodding. "Alright. Thank you."

"Of course." He glanced around, "Shall we?"

Rising, Mistoffelees nodded. "After you."

The patched tom rose, leading the way out of the clubroom, pausing long enough for a servant to fetch their hats and coats before he left the building, hailing a cab. The smaller tom trailed after him, still debating if confiding in anycat was actually a good plan.

Tumble stepped into the cab, glancing at his friend as he settled in one of the seats. Settling across from him, Mistoffelees considered him. "So..."

"So...if you don't want to talk about it I can hardly make you do so."

"It's just," he paused. "Have you ever considered yourself in love?"

Tumble thought about it for a long moment and then shook his head, "No I can't say that I have."

"Right," Mistoffelees murmured. "Do try and avoid it."

"You've fallen in love?"

"Yes," Mistoffelees said after another moment.

"With whom?"

For a moment Mistoffelees considered going back to hysterical laughter. "I, I highly doubt you've ever met..."

"Oh?" Tumble asked quietly.

"Because he..." Mistoffelees froze. "Actually, no, that says everything right there."

Tumblebrutus' eyes widened and his ears flickered, "He?" Mistoffelees swallowed and considered if he could sink through the cushions. Instead he just nodded slowly. "You fell in love with another tom?" Tumble sounded like he couldn't decide whether to be shocked or horrified. Biting his lip, the smaller tom just nodded again. "How? Why?"

"Because I am out of my mind and possibly masochistic in ways I never realized?"

"I...see."

"Really?" the smaller asked.

"Sort of? I still don't understand it, but..." He glanced away, shrugging.

"I have no idea what I'm doing," Mistoffelees said quietly.

"Keeping your head down, letting me know if I can help at all," Tumble offered.

"Yeah," he sighed again, wishing he could curl his legs up underneath him.

"Are you going to be alright?" Tumble asked.

"I hope so," he replied and paused for a long moment. "He loves me back. B-by the way."

Tumble looked at his friend, "Well, that could be considered a good thing, no?"

"On some levels," he replied. "On emotional levels. On practical ones? Not quite so much."

"Well, it means that there are two of you working together to conceal it rather than having to conceal it from him as well?"

"You're looking on the positive side," Mistoffelees said with a faint smile.

Tumble offered him a bit of a smile in return, "Well you need someone to."

"And who better than you?" Mistoffelees offered him a smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Offering him a faint smile, Mistoffelees glanced outside the window. "Well, you've certainly got the honest answer."

"So I hear. Thank you for telling me, you didn't have to."

"Well, no, but if I didn't tell someone I might have tripped up elsewhere," he said. "And you didn't throw me out of the carriage which I call thank worthy."

Tumble dropped his gaze to his paws, "Well, I spent my evening a couple nights ago dancing the t-tango w-with a socialist newspaperman, I can hardly condemn you for falling in love at this p-point."

"Well, perha-" Mistoffelees paused and blinked. "Wait, Tumble, you're not...?"

"Wh-what? N-no! That is...I mean...I-I don't th-think so?"

Mistoffelees blinked at him. "Good luck..."

The patched tom glanced at him, one corner of his mouth twitching upward, "It's n-not as though I-I'm going to encounter h-him much."

"You say that now but the world has this interesting way of surprising you under rainy day overhangs and lunch," Mistoffelees replied dryly.

Tumble's ears lay back, "Oh G-god..."

"Are you going to be alright?" Mistoffelees asked, leaning forward.

"I-I think so? I-I've only e-ever encountered him a-at the theatre...a-and that pub. I...w-will figure something out."

"Well, if you are, if it helps..." Mistoffelees sighed, sinking back against the seat. "We at least can help each other out."

Tumble offered him a faint smile, "Th-thanks. Who is th-the tom you've fallen f-for?"

"You remember that morning you found with me no hat?" Mistoffelees asked. "I had spent the night with him. He was my uncle's lawyer."

Tumble's brows rose, "Well, it could be worse."

"It could?"

"Maybe? I-I mean, at least there's a ch-chance you can say that when you encounter each other it's for business, o-or friendship."

"True, and something I'm quite determined to rely on."

"Good luck."

"Thanks. To you as well."

"Thanks."


	16. Feels Longer Than That

Looking over the papers in front of him, Sonya Vlask sighed heavily, glancing around the station for his partner.

Munkustrap Hollister made his way through the station, sidestepping around a couple of other officers as he skimmed through a file in his paws. He came to a stop by Sonya's desk, "Good day."

"Which part is good?" Sonya asked, glancing up at him.

"It arrived?" The slender tabby offered.

"I might give you that," Sonya said, shifting his weight back and leaning against the chair. "Any luck?"

"Not really, nothing new anyhow. I can't even begin to trace where the goods are being fenced."

"And without the fence..." Sonya sighed again, running a paw through his light grey headfur. "Wonderful."

"Exactly. If they took something distinguishable it would help, but so far there haven't even been jewelry with unique settings taken, and when they are I can guarantee they're parted out."

"So they're smart in other words," Sonya replied.

"Exactly. Just what we need. Smart thieves. We don't even know if we're dealing with one, two, or half a dozen."

"Or more," Sonya added.

"Exactly. Though the thefts seem staggered enough that we can likely assume a smaller crew. Otherwise we'd see more at closer intervals is my guess."

"We're reduced to guessing," Sonya considered throwing something across the room to express how annoyed he was at that. "So, no progress with the series of thefts. Are we progressing on any other fronts?"

"We have other fronts?" Munkus sighed, shaking his head, "Not really."

"Well at least we're not dealing with homicides," Sonya sighed, tilting the legs of his chair back.

"This is true.." Munkus settled into another chair.

"Well, if we're making no progress with this," Sonya considered the files. "How goes life? We'll call life our other front."

"Well enough I suppose. I stopped by my younger brother's flat the other day, which is always an adventure in and of itself. And you?"

"Much the same. I'm not sure I've heard about your younger brother before," Sonya remarked, picking up a sheet of useless paper and folding it.

Munkus opened his mouth and then closed it again, trying to figure out what to say to that, "Well, I don't typically talk about him."

"Oh, any reason?"

He glanced around, "Do you know that flier that ends up blanketing the lower class areas of the city?"

"Yeah, I've seen it before. Read it a couple time. Why?"

The silver tabby shook his head, "That's his publication."

Sonya blinked and blinked again. "Oh. How... charming."

Munkustrap smiled thinly, "My thoughts exactly."

"So, you don't quite get along then?"

"We get along well enough, as long as we avoid politics and professions."

"Well, that's good." Sonya considered.

"I suppose so. I tend to get along better with my elder brother."

"Must be interesting, having so many brothers," Sonya remarked, being the only child of fairly wealthy parents.

"Infuriating half the time actually."

Sonya laughed. "Well, yes, I could imagine that as well. I have no siblings though so that's as far as my imagination gets me."

Munkus shook his head, "Pros and cons to both sides I'm sure."

"Well, probably," he replied, nodding. Personally, he might have taken the siblings.

"What was it like growing up an only kit?"

"Lonely, for the most part. I had one close friend though... you have heard of Growltiger, yes?"

"The member of Parliament who's trying to pass that law to give us more work? Yes, I've heard of him," Munkustrap managed not to roll his eyes.

"Right, well, it's not him. His fiancée though and I were close growing up. Since she's been engaged... we've seen each other less. Especially since her politician is trying to get us so much more work."

"I think I've vaguely heard of her. How long have they been engaged now?"

"A few years," Sonya sighed.

Munkus' brow rose at the sigh, "You don't approve?"

"I don't have to approve," Sonya replied with a shrug. "But... it is a very long engagement."

"It really is rather."

Shrugging again, Sonya considered the paper in front of him intently. "So, that at least I do not approve of."

Munkus looked him over for a moment and then nodded, "Fair enough. Now, as to the case at hand, we've done a general sweep over the docks area a couple of times, correct?"

"Several times, yes," Sonya replied.

"Damn. What else can we possibly do?"

"At this point? Hope they steal again and mess up this time," Sonya said, only half joking.

The silver tabby sighed, nodding, "Sounds about right. Though they haven't done so thus far."

"Hope springs eternal," Sonya murmured.

v.v.v.v

Coricopat approached the hotel room door, pausing before knocking on it.

Bounding to the door, Mistoffelees yanked it open a little too eagerly. "Mr. Zimmerman. Did you bring those papers I asked to go over?"

The lawyer blinked at him for a moment before nodding slightly and stepping inside with a smile, "They're in my briefcase."

"Excellent," he replied with a smile, closing the door.

Coricopat set the briefcase down, his smile turning fond, "How are you?"

"Good," he replied, stepping forward, wrapping his paws in Coricopat's lapels and pulling him down into a kiss. The taller cat startled slightly, but his arms moved to wrap around Mistoffelees' waist and pull him closer as he deepened the kiss. "Doing better now," Mistoffelees murmured. "I've wanted to do that for a while."

The solicitor rested his forehead agianst the other's, "I missed you."

"Kept thinking about you," Mistoffelees replied, tilting up into the simple touch.

"You could have called sooner," Coricopat murmured.

"It's only been a few days," Mistoffelees swallowed. "I wanted to."

Coricopat's ears flickered, "I suppose that's true. God, it feels longer than that."

"It does," Mistoffelees agreed, kissing him again softly.

The mottled tom leaned down into the kiss for a moment, "We're going to have to actually do a bit of work before I leave as well, simply so I can show my employer if he asks for confirmation."

"Yes," Mistoffelees nodded. "Some work. It's a tiny matter, really..."

"It really is, shouldn't take more than a pawful of minutes."

"Should we expend that pawful now or later?" Mistoffelees asked, smiling into the kiss.

"Later I think..."

Mistoffelees laughed. "I can live with later." He leaned against the taller hard.

Coricopat chuckled, a purr rumbling in his chest as his tail wrapped around Mistoffelees' leg, "Good to know."

Shifting at that, still a little unused to it, Mistoffelees offered him a grin, twining his fingers in Coricopat's headfur. He got a smirk in response as Coricopat ran his paw down the smaller cat's spine, bringing it to rest at the base of his tail.

Mistoffelees arched into that touch. "Not used to that yet," he murmured.

"Is it a good thing to adjust to?" Coricopat asked softly as he massaged small circles at the base of the other's tail.

"I think so? It would be nice not to jump every time," Mistoffelees replied, leaning harder against him.

That garnered a chuckle, "Yes that would be rather nice."

"Hmmmm," the smaller hummed. "Feels nice though."

"I'm glad, it's supposed to."

Mistoffelees titled his head back, offering him a smile as his paws drifted down along Coricopat's back. "Really now?"

The taller made a soft sound in the back of his throat at that, arching at the touch, "Mhm..."

"I would never have guessed it was supposed to feel good," Mistoffelees teased.

Coricopat purred, but gave him a singularly unimpressed look, "Glad that's cleared up then."

Mistoffelees couldn't help but laugh softly at that. "Clear as a sunny day."

Coricopat leaned down and kissed him gently again. Feeling a purr rising in his throat, Mistoffelees pressed up into the kiss.

"I love you," Coricopat said.

Mistoffelees let out a half strangled laugh. "God, I love you too."

Coricopat offered him a gentle smile, resting a paw on his cheek.

"I..." Mistoffelees paused for a long moment. "Someone knows, by the way."

The mottled tom's ears flickered a bit at that, "Two cats, if you mean you told someone."

"Two?" Mistoffelees asked, arching his brow.

"...Macavity's seen me through a lot and I have no hope of managing to lie to him."

For a second Mistoffelees looked like he did not know how to react before finally just nodding. "Right. Good to know."

"I know you don't much care for him, but in matters like this I trust his discretion."

"If you trust him, I'm alright with it," he said. "He just... sets my fur on end."

"He tends to have the effect."

"Good to know it's not just me," Mistoffelees said with a faint smile and a quick kiss.

Coricopat smiled softly, "Who else knows?"

"Tumblebrutus, my friend from school."

A brow arched at that, "Ah, alright."

"He's sensible," Mistoffelees returned. "And... I felt like I was going to go insane as it was. He invited me over for dinner afterwards though so it was a better reaction than I could have hoped for."

Coricopat's brows both rose, "Well, that is quite a bit better than one would expect."

Mistoffelees nodded, the motion small. "He's a good sort. And... possibly in the same situation, though I think he's taken with the idea of running the other direction. We'll probably run for office together this year."

"In the same situation? How so?"

"Possibly in love with someone he shouldn't be," Mistoffelees replied.

"I see." His curiosity was piqued, but he refrained from inquiring further.

"Actually," Mistoffelees considered asking if Cori knew Tugger at all. "It's his own business I suppose." He hesitated and leaned up to kiss the mottled tom hard.

Coricopat considered pursuing that pause, but found himself cut off with the kiss. He returned it with equal fervor. Shifting, Mistoffelees pressed up against it, paws firmly on his back. The mottled tom purred, leaning down to make it less of a stretch for Mistoffelees.

"I miss you too much when you're gone," Mistoffelees said, leaning back for a breath and kissing Coricopat's jaw.

"And I you. G-god…"

Curling his paws around the other's shoulders, Mistoffelees continued kissing wherever he could reach.

Coricopat purred, his eyes half-lidded, "We have got to figure this out."

"We aren't?" Mistoffelees asked.

"If it's been less than a week and we're feeling like this...then no, not really."

"Point," he managed, swallowing and stepping back slightly.

The mottled tom ran a paw through his headfur, "I...we will figure this out, but God…"

"But god it's going to be hard," Mistoffelees finished, kissing him again.

Coricopat returned the kiss briefly, "Well, there's always the excuse of business, after all."

"It is a good excuse," he murmured. "Though, I talked to my uncle recently..."

"O-oh?" The mottled tom's ears flickered at that, "What did he say?"

"I had to agree to run for the House of Commons for him to allow me to move back," Mistoffelees replied quietly.

"But he's allowing you back?"

Mistoffelees nodded, sighing softly and leaning against Coricopat's chest. "Yes. I suppose it's not even on bad terms."

"Not really, no. It certainly could be worse."

"It's just... I never wanted to have to go into politics," Mistoffelees sighed. "Though I suppose I really do have no backups."

"At least it gives you a vocation."

He nodded against the chest he was leaning against. "It will keep me busy I'm sure..."

Coricopat ran his paw gently over Mistoffelees' headfur, "It will, which could be a blessing."

Mistoffelees laughed softly. "So long as I get to claim long hours at your house I suppose."

The solicitor smiled at that, "I can live with that plan."

"Good," Mistoffelees tilted his head back to look at the other. "Of course, campaigning means I'll have to travel, but it'll give me an excuse to stay in the town house over winter."

"There are worse things than travel, and we can claim letters of friendship or business correspondence."

Mistoffelees grinned at him. "You're actually not bad at this."

"Well, I've done this before," came the quiet response.

Mistoffelees reached up and ran a paw over the other's face. "Still. I suppose I really don't want to know what happened."

Coricopat tilted his head into the touch, "Nothing damning, just what I told you."

"Alright," was the quiet response.

"But it's in the past now."

"Well, I'm certain I can approve of that," Mistoffelees laughed softly.

Coricopat chuckled, leaning down to gently kiss the other again, "Good."

Mistoffelees pressed into the kiss. The mottled tom's arm wrapped around his waist drawing him closer.

Pausing a moment, his tail flickered out and twined around the back of Coricopat's leg.

Coricopat startled slightly at that, but his own tail wrapped around Mistoffelees' calf.

"I love you," Mistoffelees said, twining his paws through the mottled tom's headfur.

"I love you too, so very much."

"How much more time do you think we have?" Mistoffelees asked, tilting his head.

"I might be able to stay another thirty minutes."

Mistoffelees let out a frustrated breath and kissed him hard again.

Coricopat pressed into the kiss, "Well, you know where my flat is, too."

"I do," Mistoffelees said and couldn't help but smile. "This time when I end up on your doorstep though, I vote it has nothing to do with my uncle."

"I am completely in agreement."

Laughing again Mistoffelees leaned up to kiss him.


	17. Been Hints at Engagement as Well

Mistoffelees shifted. It felt odd to be returning to the town house with so little pomp. He'd paid his bill at the hotel and dropped his bags off in his room and he was back. Sighing, he descended the stairs.

Serafine entered the house, Victoria coming in behind her. She paused when she saw her son on the stairs. Victoria glanced from one to the other and excused herself, murmuring a soft greeting to Mistoffelees as she passed him.

Mistoffelees smiled as his cousin passed, murmuring a greeting in return and stopping where he was, considering his mother. "Good day. How does it treat you."

"Quite well, thank you. How does it find you?"

"Here, for one, which is a new improvement over the last few weeks."

"It's good to see you again. How have the last few weeks been for you?"

He shrugged, tail curling slightly behind him. "Well enough. I suppose I got used to staying at hotels over the summer and while traveling so it was not quite a burden."

"Well, I'm glad to see you again. You and your uncle have reached an agreement then?"

"A sort of one. I believe he is more pleased with it then I am, but that is the way of the world."

"May I ask after the nature of it?"

"I have to run for election," he said. "It's hardly... the worst fate but..." He sighed. "There may have been hints at engagement as well."

"Well, so long as they are hints only at this time..." Serafine shook her head slightly.

"I believe I managed to stave any of those off until after election season," he said, voice small.

"You'll do fine, Mistoffelees, I'm sure of it."

"Thank you," he replied. "Though you have more faith than I do."

"You're a very capable young tom, you'll find a way to make the best of it, I'm sure."

"If nothing else, Tumble will be there with me," he said. "And at least Mr. Philipson is in the House of Lords, which means I won't have to deal with him."

"You really don't care for your cousin's betrothed, do you?"

He paused for a moment and shook his head, glancing around. "No. I know him too well."

She nodded slightly, "I'm only passingly familiar with the family, myself."

"I would never judge a family by one member," he replied, glancing at his uncle's office down the hall. "But his father is dead and I have personally never heard much about his mother either. They're a good bloodline but Plato himself..."

Sera's gaze flickered toward Bustopher's office as well, "His mother has never been a queen I've been able to tolerate spending much time with. A good bloodline does not a good cat make."

"Not in any ways no," he shook his head. "But he's charming." He paused for a moment, before turning and heading toward the library. He was curious if any of his books had been moved and this conversation should really not happen in public if it was going to continue. "Would you mind stepping inside the library with me?"

Serafine hesitated at that, though Victoria could be found in the library it really was a tom's domain and it had been an invitation. She finally nodded, "Of course."

He glanced back at her, holding the door open. One ear flickered but he did want in some important way to be able to connect or at least partially confide in his mother.

Sera stepped inside, her gaze flickering around the room. She'd been in the library only a pawful of times, but there had been changes made in the short time Mistoffelees had been home. It seemed far more welcoming for readers and a quiet retreat now.

Glancing around with some relief that not much had changed, Mistoffelees realized the last Thomas Hardy book he'd been reading was left out on the table. Scooping it up, he turned back to her. "Do you remember the first night I was kicked out by my uncle?"

She thought back, nodding after a moment, "Yes, I do recall that."

"The reason was because I was attempting to convince him to break off the engagement before it went public."

Her brows rose, "I see, I suppose that explains his temper. How well do you know your cousin's fiancé?"

"He would be considered one of my oldest friends if I considered him a friend," Mistoffelees replied, going to reshelf the book.

"What is he like?" She asked softly, glancing around and finally settling on the edge of one of the chairs, smoothing her dark skirt around her.

"The chair is perfectly safe," he said with a soft smile at her sitting on the edge. "He's... as I said he can be charming. But it's entirely a front. He likes getting what he wants and if he doesn't get it, hell's to pay."

She offered him a faint smile, "I'm sure it is, it's also designed for those with more freedom of motion than a dress will allow." Sera considered her son's words, running a paw over the black velvet trim of her sleeve, "So..." she tried to find a way to say what she was thinking that would still have some tact to it.

He considered her outfit, crossing his arms and leaning against the bookshelves. "Point."

She finally found the wording she might consider a bit more tactful, "Is there anyone you know that you would have approved of your cousin marrying?"

"Pounce, maybe, Tumble even. But I do not believe uncle would approve and I do not believe either of them have free hearts. Possibly even Lord Harrold, or Sir Green. But I do not know them as well."

Serafine sighed, shaking her head, "I wish there was some reassurance we could give her."

"I do too," he said quietly.

"Be there when she needs us I suppose?"

"If we can," he replied. "When we can."

"As much as we're able," Sera agreed.

He nodded. "As much as we're able. Do you know if there's a date yet?"

"Not as far as I know, my guess is it won't be too far out though."

He nodded and sighed. "God... of anycat in the world he was the last one I wanted to deal with here."

"In all likelihood you won't have to deal with him much..."

"You don't understand Plato," he said, shaking his head. "He'll go out of way to throw this in my face."

Sera considered that and then nodded, "A falling out or have the two of you always been like that?"

"Falling out," he said, a little abruptly. "At least, you could say that."

She nodded, but didn't pursue that, "I see." There was a pause before she spoke with a soft sigh, "So you don't believe there's any chance for Victoria to be happy?"

"Life throws everyone chances," he replied quietly.

"But only rarely," Sera murmured, shaking her head.

"But they're still there," he replied, tail curling as he thought about Coricopat.

She nodded, "And once in a while a real gem of one comes along." Her paw ghosted over the locket she wore pinned at her throat.

His eyes followed the motion. "Do I get to ask what's in the locket?" he asked quietly.

Sera hesitated before carefully undoing the brooch and offering it to her son.

He took it, opening it and pausing for a very long moment. "Is that...?"

She nodded, "Your father."

"You know, I remember vaguely things about him but I'm not sure anycat's shown me a picture before."

"Well, I have one other if you would like it? It's upstairs in my boudoir."

"No, it, I mean," he stumbled for a moment. "They're yours. You probably miss him more."

She shook her head, "I have that one, Mistoffelees. And I wouldn't have offered the other unless I meant it."

"Oh." He paused a moment before nodding. "If I could?"

Serafine nodded slightly, "I'll fetch it for you this evening?"

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"You're welcome."

He offered her a hesitant smile. "I wish I had the chance to know him."

"You would have liked him, and he loved you for what time he knew you."

The small tom blinked for a moment and nodded. "Thank you."

"Of course. If you ever wish to know about him, I hardly consider him a taboo subject, no matter what your uncle may prefer."

He smiled faintly, and sat down on a chair across from her. "I guess... I never did figure out how the two of you even met."

"Actually we met at the shop he was working at, hardly anything of note, but he was charming and we managed to meet and get to know one another and I fell in love."

"Just like that?" he asked quietly.

"Well, that period of meeting to get to know one another took a year or so, but...yes, in essence, just like that." He paused and nodded. "I married him two years after we met, to the family's horror of course."

He bit back a laugh. "Horror is the only way I could see it being described." Which wouldn't compare at all if anycat found out about Coricopat.

She smiled a bit at that, "That really is the only fitting descriptor."

"What did you do then?"

"After marrying him? Well, by that time he'd opened his own shop, we lived above it for a time and I learned how to help around the shop. It wasn't enough knowledge for me to be able to run it on my own, but it was enough to help him."

"Were you happy?" her son asked softly, leaning forward.

"Very. More than I would have thought possible. And then you were born and I found that my prior assessment had been wrong, it was possible to be happier."

For a moment Mistoffelees could hardly react to that. "And you didn't regret it? Giving up this life?"

She considered her answer carefully, "There were days I wished we had the money available to us, we had times where it was difficult to pay all of the bills but we always pulled through. And given my choice? I'd trade this all to go back to that."

He looked down at the brooch he still held before finally holding it back out to return it to her. "Well, it's not quite as dramatic as running away to become a gypsy I suppose."

She took it back, pinning it back on the collar of her dress with a faint smile, "No, not quite so dramatic as that."

"But you were happy," Mistoffelees stated, not even framing it as a question.

"Very. I should have known it was too good."

"That's hardly inspiring," he murmured, wincing.

Sera sighed, offering a mirthless laugh, "I'm sorry that was rather bitter wasn't it?"

"Yes," he offered her a faint smile. "Perhaps it's in the blood."

"Perhaps so," she smoothed a paw over her skirt again.

"We make quite the pair then," he said softly.

"We do indeed. Life does balance, in many ways, even if it isn't the balance we wanted."

"We can still hope for the one we wanted though."

"We can," she offered him a gentle smile, "Sometimes life obliges."

"Only when it has no other choice," he returned the smile.

"We do make quite the pair of bitter cats, don't we?"

"Some days," he said, laughing quietly. "But... I hope life is obliging me at the moment."

"I hope so for your sake as well."

"Thank you," her son said softly.

"Of course."

He sighed quietly. "And we'll do what we can for Victoria. How has she been doing?"

"She's resigned to it, but beyond that she's rather at a loss. I believe she's met him twice."

"God," Mistoffelees ran a paw over his face. "There's nothing I can say to make this better..."

"She's not the first young queen to be engaged to a cad, nor will she be the last," Sera murmured.

"But she's the first one I've cared about engaged to a cad who-I know," he changed words abruptly.

His mother nodded, "I know. But all we can do is help her with what she asks us, and support her as much as we can."

He nodded slowly. "Well, I should see about making sure everything is where it needs to be." He paused. "Thank you for, well, the talk."

"Of course." Sera rose, "I'll have your father's photograph for you this evening. Good afternoon, Mistoffelees."

"Good afternoon, mother."

She slipped out of the room, retreating to her boudoir, but feeling a good deal better than she had in a while. He watched her go before returning to his room, pacing for a while. His mind was trying to sort out Plato and Coricopat and his mother and his cousin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://magical-notes.livejournal.com/9115.html
> 
> Some reference pictures posted over at the companion LJ community.


	18. You Haven't Changed That Much

Several days later found Jones and his family over at Growltiger Chapman's house for lunch. It was supposed to be to congratulate Mistoffelees on throwing his hat into the ring of politics, However, the small black tom had been all but silent so far throughout lunch, glancing from Growltiger to his uncle every once and a while.

Serafine had actually opted to not beg a headache for this luncheon, finding that she didn't actually mind Lady Griddlebone Laurent's company, though the other queen had a set of opinions Sera wasn't entirely certain she agreed with. Victoria sat beside her aunt and across from her cousin, her gaze moving occasionally toward where her father and Growltiger were conversing.

"They look like they're having a rather intense conversation," Mistoffelees murmured quietly to his cousin.

She nodded slightly, "They do indeed." The young queen offered him a faint smile, "You've been rather quiet, Mistoffelees."

"Oh," he shrugged. "Not much I can think of to say."

She nodded again, "I know what you mean."

He glanced down at the other toms again and sighed quietly. Moving his head back the other way, he looked again at the white queen beside him, certainly unsure what to say to her.

Griddlebone returned his glance, her conversation with Serafine having lulled, "Growltiger tells me that you are going to be running for election for the next session?"

He paused and nodded. "Yes, m'lady. It appears I will be running for election."

"Good to know. I wish you luck then."

"Thank you," he said, offering her a smile. "I am sure I will need it."

She glanced toward where Growltiger and Bustopher seemed to still be conversing, "What made you decide to run for office?"

His own eyes strayed that way and his bit his lip. That was an excuse he was really going to have to work on. "In probably too much honesty, it was my uncle's suggestion to keep myself busy."

Griddlebone smiled a bit at that, "I see, well good luck with that as well."

"Thank you for that as well. How have you enjoyed being engaged to someone so active in politics yourself? Since you probably have more experience, even second hand, than I do."

The white queen considered and then shrugged very slightly, "It is what it is. He doesn't speak much about the actual goings on to me. Though we've been engaged long enough for me to pick up on which way the political winds tend to be blowing."

He paused and nodded. "Ah. Well, so long as you know where it's going perhaps...?"

"It's more that I know that general favor is against his strongest propositions. He knows this but continues to push them."

"Even when the political climate is against him?" Mistoffelees asked, not meaning to pry but unable to come up with any other subject himself.

"Even then. He's tenacious if nothing else."

"A visionary or else very stubborn," Mistoffelees murmured and his eyes widened slightly. "I'm sorry. That might have come out worse than I intended."

She smiled softly, "I would call him a bit of both, honestly."

One ear flickering Mistoffelees nodded. "I'm sure our country needs both," he murmured not quite believing it.

"Whether the country does or not, cats can stand to be one or the other for their own sakes, in my opinion."

"Cats should be visionaries or stubborn?" Mistoffelees asked, arching a brow.

"Depends on the cat," she returned, contradicting her earlier statement, or qualifying it, but it was hard to tell exactly what she was doing.

He blinked, confusion drawing his brows together faintly. "Which cats would you say should be visionaries then?"

"Those that have the potential to turn visions to reality, though far more visionaries exist amidst those who have no ability in that realm."

He blinked once again, her words reminding him too strongly of a conversation with Coricopat about dreamers, and one ear flickering back. "So only those who can make their dreams real should?" he asked.

"Should, yes. Though rarely do those with the power see any need for dreams. Perhaps dreams should be left to those who may not be able to reach the goal, dreams are a necessity to live, to survive."

Mistoffelees blinked at her. "I... see...?" he managed, glancing at Victoria before back to the other queen.

Victoria simply looked confused, while Serafine's brows had risen during the course of the conversation. Lady Griddlebone had the decency to look a bit embarrassed, "I am sorry, I tend to sort my thoughts out loud."

"Understandable," Mistoffelees said finally. "Not everything thinks best in the space of their own mind."

"Still, my apologies."

He inclined his head. "It is hardly something to worry about. Dreamers can be a... difficult subject."

"They can indeed. Every cat has dreams, whether all admit it or no."

He smiled faintly. "Rather. Or they suppress them."

"Well, when a dream has been pulled away, perhaps repeatedly, one can hardly do much else," she replied.

He tilted his head, wishing he wasn't being reminded of Coricopat so much. "Have you had a dream pulled out repeatedly, m'lady?"

"Me? La, no," she offered a smile at that, hiding the lie in her words expertly.

"Of course. That was a rather personal question, my apologizes," he said.

"No need to apologize, Mr. Quaxo."

"Still," he inclined his head and glanced back down at the food.

An hour or so later found the group settled around a card table, the game dealt before them. Sera had excused herself from the game, settling in a chair nearby. Mistoffelees glanced at his cards, playing them easily but uncomfortable under Growltiger's steely gaze.

Victoria glanced quietly from her cousin to the older tom, but kept her gaze focused on the cards for the most part.

"So, Mistoffelees," Growltiger said, playing a card. Hazel eyes flickering up, Mistoffelees arched a brow before returning his gaze to his cards. "I hear you're intending to run for the house of commons."

"Yes," he replied quietly.

Griddlebone glanced at her fiancé, but managed not to frown at all at that question. Growltiger glanced at his fiancé and back to the small black tom in front of him. "Do you have any idea what your strategy might be?"

"Not sure yet. I'm not sure what advice you could give though, since you never had to run," Mistoffelees replied, a little harshly as he placed another card and won the hand.

Victoria's eyes widened very slightly and she darted her gaze to her cousin, hoping he hadn't honestly just said that like that to their host.

Mistoffelees bit his lip at that, shrinking slightly. Growltiger just looked amused. "You have backbone, you know that?"

"No," Mistoffelees mumbled, often having been told otherwise.

"Which isn't always a bad thing," Lady Griddlebone murmured.

"Having a backbone or knowing it?" Mistoffelees asked quietly, reshuffling the cards idly.

"Having one," she replied.

He offered her a small smile before dealing the cards back out. "It could be a benefit in the house," Growltiger replied. "So long as you know when to use it."

Victoria glanced up again, "May I ask how that would be, sir?"

"When not dealing with someone who can crush you," Growltiger replied and Mistoffelees' hazel eyes snapped up, narrowing slightly at what could only sound like a threat.

Victoria glanced at her cousin warily, but nodded, "I see."

The politician shrugged. "You learn when best to use it and when best not to," he said.

Griddlebone glanced around the table, "But surely it serves more good than not?"

"Generally," Growltiger replied, still watching Mistoffelees who was trying not to respond.

She glanced toward Mistoffelees and then nodded slightly, "Of course."

"You're not very reactive, are you?" Growltiger asked Mistoffelees, playing another card and smiling.

Eyes darting up, Mistoffelees looked back down, laying down another card. "I prefer not to," he replied.

The two queens took their turns, offering each other a glance before returning their attention to the other players. Griddlebone looked over the cards that were currently in play, "I do believe you're winning again, Mr. Quaxo."

"Oh," he said, having been distracted by Growltiger that he did not even pay attention to the game. Usually he was aware when he was winning too badly and purposefully tried not to.

Victoria smiled faintly, "He's quite good at cards."

He blushed, ears flickering slightly. "I'm..." It was impossible to deny. "I'll try not to win too much."

Growltiger's brows rose. "Rather confident, aren't you? Besides, that means you wouldn't be using your full potential, and would in fact be lying to us to make us feel better."

Mistoffelees titled his chin up. "I am confident when it comes to this," the smaller tom replied, ignoring the later part of the statement.

Griddlebone smiled a bit at that, also ignoring the politician, "If you win too much we'll let you know."

Mistoffelees nodded to her, offering her a quiet smile. "You might consider using that skill to your advantage," Growltiger remarked and Mistoffelees' eyes narrowed slightly.

Griddlebone sighed quietly, glancing at her fiancé, "Let us have no more talk of politics and elections tonight?"

The lord smirked and nodded, having not actually been talking about that.

v.v.v.v

Mistoffelees glanced around before knocking on Coricopat's door, feeling jittery. But there was nothing wrong with stopping by and playing a game of chess with a friend.

Coricopat looked up from his book, setting it aside before rising and going to answer the door. He offered Mistoffelees a smile, when he finally saw him, "Mistoffelees, it's good to see you. Come in."

The smaller tom offered him a smile, stepping in. "Don't worry, I'm on perfectly acceptable terms with my uncle."

The mottled tom closed the door, laughing softly, "I'm very glad to hear that."

"It's probably a good change," Mistoffelees said with a smile.

"I certainly think so," Coricopat leaned down and kissed him lightly. "I'm glad to see you."

Mistoffelees' tail curled and he pressed into the kiss. "Missed you."

"And I you." He ran a gentle paw over Mistoffelees' cheek.

Leaning against the other just to feel him, Mistoffelees tilted his head. "How have you been?"

"Busy, but in a good way. Missing you. How have you been doing, back in your uncle's house?"

"Had a lovely lunch over at Growltiger's," he replied, sarcasm heavy. "I can't imagine doing this the rest of my life..."

"Sounds thrilling. But you'll make it, I know it."

Wrapping his arms tighter around the other, Mistoffelees sighed softly. "God, I hope so..."

Coricopat's arms twined around the smaller tom and he kissed the top of his head, "I love you."

Smiling, Mistoffelees leaned his head up and kissed the other hard.

The mottled tom, purred, leaning down into the kiss even as he drew Mistoffelees closer.

Pressing up against him as much as he could, Mistoffelees ran a paw down his back. "I just..."

Coricopat arched at the touch, "You just..?"

"Can't believe it, can't get used to this?" Mistoffelees offered, nuzzling Coricopat's jaw, kissing it. "I feel like I'm over-saturated around you."

"I know what you mean," he purred softly, one paw moving to stroke Mistoffelees' ears.

"I..." he paused, tilting into the touch his ear flickering.

"Hm?" He continued to massage the base of the other's ears.

"Not going to be able to say anything you keep doing that," he murmured, tilting further into the touch.

"Do you want me to stop so you can finish your thought?" he asked with a smirk.

"N-no, I think my thought it good."

Coricopat grinned before leaning down and kissing him again.

"G-god I love you. And I can stay a while," he said, tugging on Coricopat's tie.

The solicitor smiled at that, "How long?"

"An hour. It's entirely possible to get away with two."

"Perfect." Coricopat's tail twined around the smaller tom's leg.

"I wish I could stay the entire night," he murmured.

"I do too, it's just not viable."

"I know that," he said, sounding frustrated for a moment. "I haven't slept well since the night after the theatre..."

Coricopat's ears flickered, "...We'll figure something out."

Letting out a breath, he rested his head against Coricopat's chest for a long moment. "It just... I wish it wasn't difficult. I wish I could be with you and it would mean nothing. It's idle, it's foolish but I..."

"I know. God, I know," he ran a soothing paw over Mistoffelees' back.

"But I have you," he murmured. "Even if it's in secret."

"And you shall have for as long as we are able. I promise you that."

Tilting his head, Mistoffelees pulled him down into another hard kiss. Coricopat purred, drawing the other almost flush against him as he deepened the kiss. Purring, Mistoffeleess' paws went to the buttons of his vest, stepping back just enough to undo the buttons but not break the kiss.

The taller cat chuckled, not breaking the kiss as he set to work on Mistoffelees' tie. Getting the buttons off, Mistoffelees slid the vest off, dropping it carefully on a chair and pressing back in.

Coricopat set to work on the buttons on Mistoffelees' vest and shirt, glancing toward his bedroom door and pulling back from the kiss briefly, "My room, perhaps?"

"I can live with that," Mistoffelees smirked into the kiss.

The mottled tom chuckled, guiding his lover backwards toward the room.

A while later, Mistoffelees lay curled around Coricopat's chest, purring faintly. "What time is it?" he asked.

The lawyer turned enough to reach for his pocket watch on the side table and look at it. "Just about time for you to be leaving," he answered with a sigh.

"I want to luxuriate more," Mistoffelees replied, nuzzling down closer. "Say we got caught up in a very engaging debate on chess opening moves."

Coricopat smiled, kissing the tip of Mistoffelees' ear, "I'm alright with that excuse."

Mistoffelees tilted his head back into the touch. "Mmmmh. Suppose that doesn't preclude dressing at some point."

"Probably not. We really ought to at least put some truth to your words..."

He laughed quietly. "My words need no truth," he said, kissing Coricopat's collarbone before pushing himself up.

The mottled tom laughed, "Still, a chess game wouldn't' go amiss..."

"I could agree to a chess game," Mistoffelees murmured, attempting to smooth his headfur down as he gathered his discarded clothing.

Coricopat rose, locating his clothes and putting them on, carefully making sure he looked at least mostly presentable before slipping out of the room to locate his vest, kissing Mistoffelees briefly as he passed him. Mistoffelees purred, following him.

Going out into the living room Mistoffelees walked up to where Coricopat was putting on the vest, wrapping his arms around the other and resting his head against his back. "Where is your chess set?"

The mottled tom managed to finish buttoning the vest, though Mistoffelees' paws were suddenly in the way, "The table's in the left corner near the fireplace, and the set is on the second shelf of the bookcase."

Mistoffelees grinned, ghosting his paws over Coricopat's. Finally he stepped back after kissing the other's neck lightly, going to locate the chess set. He'd gotten it out on the table when a knock suddenly came at the door.

Coricopat paused, grabbing his suit coat from where he had draped it over one of the chairs the evening before, pulling it on and buttoning it as he made his way over to the door. He hesitated a moment, trying to figure out who could be on the other side and what in the hell they could be wanting, but finally opened the door. His grey eyes widened and he absolutely froze at the cat standing on the other side.

Mistoffelees' ears flickered at the knock, quickly setting up the chess board, and moving a few of the pawns on one of the knights to make it look like some game was at least in progress.

On the other side of the door Franklin Rynes standing on the other side, offering the other tom a grin. "Coricopat."

The solicitor tried to form a coherent sentence, but all that came out was a strangled, "Franklin. It's...been a long time."

"It has," the other tom replied, grey fur rippling slightly. "Haven't been in town for a while."

"I noticed. What do you want?" He managed not to flinch as he asked the wrong question, the words sounding harsh to his own ears.

Franklin's eyes widened as if in shock. "Why, dear Cori, what kind of greeting is that?"

The mottled tom's ears lay back at the nickname and endearment, "The sort you are being offered."

"Come now, surely you aren't still hung up on what happened..." Franklin started, still smiling as if talking to a disobedient kit.

"Frank, you have sixty seconds to tell me what you're doing here before I forget what manners my parents taught me and slam the door in your face."

Arching a brow, Franklin stepped into the actual doorframe where it would be harder to slam the door without first forcing him back. "I just came to see an old friend. I'm back in town clearly and thought it might be nice to catch up."

"I'm afraid I have company at the moment. Good day, Franklin."

"You? Have company?" Franklin asked.

"Yes. It's hardly such a surprise."

"It if for you," Franklin replied. "Unless you changed so much in the last few years." He moved forward suddenly, shouldering past the other tom and heading for the living room. Mistoffelees glanced up from where he'd been playing through the chess game, arching a brow and Franklin paused a long moment.

Coricopat growled at that move, closing the door and following Franklin, "Franklin, leave."

"Well, apparently you haven't changed that much," he remarked.

"Excuse me?" Mistoffelees asked, glancing between the two.

Coricopat's eyes narrowed, "I was enjoying a quiet game of chess. You are a nuisance and are completely unwelcome in my flat, even ten years ago this was my space to myself."

"That only means you let someone else into this space," Franklin replied arching a brow.

"No, that means it's my flat to invite guests to come when I choose to. You are not welcome here. I have no idea what possessed you to come here."

"I haven't seen you in ten years!" Franklin protested. Mistoffelees leaned back, trying to insert himself in the conversation as little as possible.

"Exactly," came the icy response. "I have neither seen nor heard from you in a decade and you think you can simply show up on my doorstep and expect me to be happy about it?"

"Why not?" Franklin asked, actually sitting down.

Coricopat stared at him, suppressing another growl, "Because you're a bastard? And there is absolutely no reason for me to be happy to see you?"

"Surely there are some reasons," Franklin attempted. Mistoffelees glanced quickly between the two of them.

"Hm, let me think about that for a moment," he appeared to consider it. "No, I can't think of a single one."

"You're just the bitter type."

Coricopat smiled thinly, "You have not seen me bitter. Give me one good reason why I should be happy to see you, Franklin, and I will consider it."

"Because you used to be?"

"I said a good reason, Frank. I have no reason to be now."

Franklin considered him a long moment before glancing over at Mistoffelees whose shoulders were tense. "You're a quiet one."

"You're a stranger," Mistoffelees returned.

Coricopat sighed, sinking down in a free chair, glancing between them.

Mistoffelees glanced over at the mottled tom. "Should I leave?" he asked quietly.

He almost protested the idea but finally nodded, "We'll continue our game later."

Mistoffelees considered him a long moment, almost pointing out he didn't have to before nodding and rising. "I shall look forward to that. Good day then."

"Good day," Coricopat murmured, his gaze finally rising to meet Mistoffelees', hoping the other would read his apology in his eyes. He'd talk to him later, either way. Or try to.

Meeting his eyes Mistoffelees swallowed, but nodded slightly as if to acknowledge that before heading for the door. Franklin meanwhile was lounging back against the chair, smirking as if he'd gotten Coricopat's cream.

The mottled tom finally turned to him, barely avoiding growling, "What?"

"Who's that then?" Franklin asked.

"A friend. I meet with him to play chess from time to time

"Play chess? That almost sounds like something more," Franklin smirked.

Only you could possibly find a way to read more into that than what I meant."

"Please. He may not have your number but I do," Franklin replied.

Coricopat smiled thinly, leaning back in his chair, "Well, he's far better at chess than you ever were."

Franklin actually laughed at that. "Oh, you don't even deny it..."

"I did mean the actual game. Do you not recall that game we played that you lost so horribly at? You never were one for strategy and tactics."

Franklin smirked. "No. I tend to want to get down and dirty and do the actual work."

Coricopat grimaced, "I recall. Why are you in town, Franklin?"

"Work," he replied with a shrug. "Haven't you missed me?"

"I don't see any reason to answer that question. I did for a time."

"For a time you saw a reason to answer the question or for a time you missed me?"

"For a time I missed you," he finally admitted begrudgingly.

"What was I just gone too long?" Franklin asked, arching a brow. "Did you replace me then?"

"I got over you. There's a difference."

"Really?" Franklin laughed and rose, moving over to the other. "Weren't we supposed to be together forever or any such other nonsense?"

Coricopat leaned back further in his chair, "It was rather nonsense, wasn't it?"

"You used to be willing to believe in such things."

"I used to be willing to believe in a lot of things."

"Does your new toy make you believe much?" Franklin asked, tilting his head.

"He's not a toy, and that's none of your business," Coricopat's ears laced.

Franklin's brows rose and he smirked, looking at Coricopat's ears. "Your emotions are just so easy..."

The mottled tom's eyes narrowed, "Go away, Franklin."

Franklin laughed again. "Even if I walk out today do you really think I'll leave you alone?"

"Why won't you?"

"Leave you alone?" Franklin asked, arching a brow sardonically.

"Yes."

"Because you are far too entertaining," Franklin replied.

"Go to hell," Coricopat snapped.

Franklin laughed outright then. "But it's not nearly so nice a place as here."

Coricopat rose, finding himself far too close to Franklin for his liking. He sidestepped and headed for the small kitchen of the flat, "Leave me be, Franklin."

"Well, it helps you aren't in my contract," Franklin replied, eyes following him.

The mottled tom glanced at him, "What do you mean?"

Franklin blinked once and shrugged. "Nothing important."

"...Franklin..."

The other tom just smirked. "What? Surely you don't expect me to tell you my secrets."

"No, I suppose I can't expect ten years to have changed that."

Franklin managed not to roll his eyes, but he still wasn't leaving. "Ten years. You think it'd change more than it does, hm?"

"What will it take to get you to leave, and to leave me alone?"

"Nothing in this world," Franklin replied, tipping his hat. "Cheers for now though."

Coricopat swallowed, his ears flicking back again as he nodded, "I assume you can see yourself out?"

"With little difficultly," Franklin assured and turned for the door.

The mottled tom closed his eyes, sagging against the doorframe as the front door to the flat closed. Damn it to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your song for this chapter is "Who Can You Trust" from Frank Wildhorn's musical "Tears of Heaven." First two singers being Franklin and Cori, and the third apparently Mistoffelees. Franklin is an OC found off Felidae 1925, and he's shown up in "What's My Road to Innocence" as well (Another story on our profile) if you're interested in him at all.


	19. White I would Presume, Then?

Serafine and Victoria entered the glovemaker's, considering the sort of gloves that could and should be worn for the wedding. Macavity paused, turning from where he was at one of the counters, talking to the shop owner.

Victoria's gaze flickered over to the red tabby. She paused a moment before glancing at her aunt. The red tabby in question blinked a few times before inclining his head. "Miss Jones. And Mrs. Quaxo?" He was unsure exactly how to address her after her son.

Serafine inclined her head to him, "Mr. Hollister. What brings you out on such a day?"

"Finding new gloves simply," he replied. "And you two ladies?"

"The same, sir," she answered.

"Just out shopping for gloves?" he asked, trying to make something akin to conversation.

"Precisely," she glanced at Victoria who offered a faint smile.

"I'm hoping to find suitable ones," she said.

"For the wedding?" Macavity asked after a moment.

The white queen nodded slightly, "Yes. Something new, you know?"

His smile was strained. "Ah yes. White I would presume then?"

She nodded again, "That is the plan."

"I am sure you'll find something here to suit your tastes," he said and the shop keeper behind him nodded energetically.

Sera glanced toward the shopkeeper, "Perhaps you could show us your materials, that we might have some idea of what we're looking at?"

Victoria offered Macavity a faint smile, "Thank you."

He rolled his shoulders. "Any time. Not that I did much since you were already here."

"Nevertheless...Thank you," she said, voice meaningful.

Sera glanced between the two younger cats as the shopkeeper went to fetch what she had requested. Pausing, Macavity offered her a grin. "Well, now I have to say you're welcome."

Her smile brightened at that, "I suppose you do."

"Well then, milady, you're most welcome," he said with a grin.

She blushed faintly, "How does this day find you, sir?"

"It is a beautiful day, made currently only more so," he replied. "Work is for the most part progressing enough that it is not... much of a concern."

"I am glad to hear it," she replied softly.

Serafine glanced at them again, her expression unreadable, before her gaze went back to the fabrics that the shopkeeper had brought out.

Macavity's eyes flickered over to the older queen before back to Victoria. "And yourself? Besides shopping for fabrics and the like."

"I am...doing well, thank you for asking."

"You hardly sound convinced there..." he said, tail swishing slightly behind him before he stilled it.

Her gaze darted up to meet his before dropping again, "I'm doing well, sir."

"Anything I could be in use in?" Macavity asked, frowning ever so slightly.

She shook her head, "No. Nothing, thank you for the offer."

"Alright," he said softly.

Victoria offered him a faint smile, "I supposed plans for the wedding are simply growing in number is all."

"It should be coming up soon, yes?" he asked, voice still quiet.

She nodded, "The date has yet to be announced, but I expect it soon."

He paused and nodded. "You think a date would show up at this point," he shook his head. There was none on any of the papers yet.

"Soon," she repeated.

Serafine glanced at them again, "Victoria, come look at this fabric, and see if you like it."

Macavity blinked, craning his neck slightly but remaining where he was. Victoria moved to her aunt's side, running her paws over the fabrics, glancing at her aunt to see what the older queen thought. Sera inclined her head, leaving the decision up to her niece. The younger queen finally located a fabric she would be able to bear wearing for the duration of the ceremony.

Macavity watched them quietly, murmuring something to the shop keeper about his own order and just leaning against the counter the rest of the time.

The queens finished a short while later, the glove maker having been given the appropriate measurements for Victoria's paw and the fabric requested. Sera inclined her head to Macavity, "It was good to see you again, sir."

"You as well," he said, inclining his head. "Good luck with the preparations"

"Thank you. Come along, Victoria, we should be returning home."

Victoria offered Macavity a faint smile, "Good day to you, sir." He waved as they walked out, suppressing what would have turned into another sigh.

v.v.v.v

Serafine hesitated before knocking lightly on the library door. Mistoffelees glanced up, setting his book to one side and opening the door. His brows rose but he stepped aside. "Mother. Come in if you like."

She stepped inside, glancing around, "How are you today, Mistoffelees?"

"Well enough," he replied, one ear flickering. He hadn't spoken to Coricopat since Franklin had arrived and it was making him feel jittery. "And yourself?"

"Well enough," she echoed.

"What brings you here today?" he asked.

"I was out shopping with your cousin earlier and we encountered your uncle's lawyer. I was wondering what you could tell me about him?"

"La-lawyer?" he asked, eyes going a little wide, not quite processing.

"Mr. Hollister?" she supplied.

"Oh," he supplied, looking relieved. "Well... what do you wish to know about him?"

"What is he like? Is he honorable?"

"Honorable? I would say so, but he can be a bit... brash," Mistoffelees replied, one ear flickering.

"So I noticed," she said, wryly.

"It's hard not to notice that about him," Mistoffelees smiled faintly.

"Your cousin seems to find him charming," she murmured.

"He is that," Mistoffelees said. "When he wants to be that is."

Serafine sighed, finally coming out to say what she was thinking, "I'm worried."

"That they might fall in love?" Mistoffelees asked, an ear flickering back at the very suggestion, but he was hardly going to take it back now.

"That they're already headed there."

Mistoffelees blinked, trying to wrap his mind around the idea. "You did the same," he pointed out quietly.

She sighed, "I know that, that's why I can't condemn her for it, but she's engaged. It's almost as good as being married. To a tom with no little influence either. As much as you dislike him, and I can't say much for his family." Mistoffelees sighed, and looked down. "You know Plato Philipson better than I, what are the chances of him breaking the engagement?"

"At this point?" Mistoffelees considered their last conversation. "He would have to be given a very good reason, and then he might keep it just out of spite."

His mother sighed again, "I feared as much." He shrugged a little helplessly. "Well, then we do what we can to help her, and to see that she and Mr. Hollister have as little contact as possible," Sera murmured, thinking aloud more than anything.

"Would it be so bad if they ran away together?" Mistoffelees asked, unable to help it.

"Where would they run to?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know," he admitted quietly.

"That's the problem, they wouldn't be able to stay in England, and where they would go I don't know. But," she finally admitted, "If they were to come to the realization of a love enough to warrant marriage, and were to elope, I would not say them nay."

Sighing, Mistoffelees ran a paw over his face. "God..."

Sera shook her head, "We will be there to support her no matter what happens. And if need be we speak to Mr. Hollister about tact."

That got a laugh out of the smaller cat. "I'm not sure we would have much effect there."

She smiled wryly, "It could be worth a try though."

"I think his partner would attest to how ineffective that is."

"Oh?" she asked in some confusion.

"He's been trying for years," Mistoffelees replied, glad his voice was even.

She smiled faintly, "Well, that's good to know then."

He shrugged. "I can at least ask one of them about this tact thing."

"If you would? I can speak with Victoria as well."

"Alright," he said softly, tail swishing behind him as he tried to process the conversation.

v.v.v.v

Mistoffelees hesitated a long moment before knocking on the door. It was a long moment before the door opened and Coricopat looked out warily. He bit his lip, "Mistoffelees." Stepping aside he opened the door further, "Do come in."

"Thank you," he said quietly, tail curling.

The mottled tom closed the door behind the other, "H-how have you been?"

"Not bad over all," he replied. "A little confused."

"Oh? Is...there anything I can do to help clear that up?"

"Well, your partner and my cousin are apparently falling in love, and that man that showed up the other day and..." he shook his head. "I had planned on approaching that with more tact..."

Coricopat's brows rose, "Macavity and your cousin are what?" He would deal with the Franklin bit in a moment.

"Apparently my mother say them together and is worried."

"Oh, God..." Coricopat shook his head, "I suppose that explains some things."

"Some things?" Mistoffelees asked, tilting his head.

"He's been...distracted lately."

"Lovely," Mistoffelees murmured, running a paw through his hair.

"I'll speak with him, see if there's anything he can actually tell me."

"Alright," Mistoffelees nodded, tail flickering behind him again.

"As to Franklin's arrival...what do you wish to talk about there?" Coricopat asked, after a moment, approaching the topic with wariness and distaste.

"Well, just to make sure here... you and he were...?"

Coricopat nodded, "He was the relationship I told you about, briefly."

"And he's back now?" Mistoffelees looked distinctly unhappy with the idea.

"Apparently," the mottled tom's ears lay back at that thought.

Mistoffelees shifted. "Are you alright?"

He sighed slightly, "I never expected to see him again, God knows I didn't want to." His gaze went to the smaller tom, "I promise you, that for my part, this changes nothing between you and I."

"Oh," he said quietly, and visibly relaxed.

Coricopat shook his head slightly, "I love  _you_ , Mistoffelees Quaxo. Nothing's going to change that."

Shifting, he moved forward and pressed himself against Coricopat, his arms going around his chest. "Good."

The taller cat carefully wrapped his arms around the other, "I love you."

Letting out a breath, Mistoffelees relaxed further against him. "Was it silly I was worried?"

Coricopat thought about it for a moment and then shook his head, "I hadn't told you much about what went on between us, and you were acting on what little you knew. Worry when an old flame walks in is to be expected. But that's all he is to me-a spark of the past who has no hold on me in that respect any longer."

Mistoffelees paused and finally nodded against Coricopat's chest. "Alright. Alright, I can live with that."

"I have to warn you though, he's made it pretty clear he's back to wreak chaos where he can outside of whatever he's in town for."

"Good to know," Mistoffelees murmured, nuzzling up against Coricopat slightly, paying much more attention to the feel of the other than any possible warnings. The mottled tom held him close, stroking a paw over his headfur. "So, he's wrecking chaos, and your partner and my cousin may be causing all sorts of scandal, but we're fine?"

"Beyond the issue that is this relationship in general? Yes, we're fine."

Mistoffelees laughed softly at that. "Our entire relationship an issue? Surely not."

Coricopat chuckled, "Not at all. Must be thinking of something else."

Mistoffelees tilted his head back to kiss the other softly. The taller cat leaned down to deepen the kiss, purring gently. Shifting further against the other, Mistoffelees started purring faintly in return, paws coming up around the other's neck.

Coricopat pulled him closer, backing toward the couch a bit. Pausing almost a moment Mistoffelees followed him, arching a brow even as he did not break the kiss.

Coricopat settled down on the couch, pulling Mistoffelees with him, not breaking the kiss. The smaller tom startled at that, before setting on the other cat, continuing the kiss, with his paws coming up to cup his face.

Coricopat purred, one paw running down Mistoffelees' spine, settling to massage small circles at the base of the other's tail Arching, Mistoffelees finally broke the kiss. "I can't stay long..."

Coricopat's ears flickered, "How long?"

"I..." he paused. "Half an hour?"

The solicitor nodded slightly, leaning in to kiss the other again. Shifting, Mistoffelees pressed further against him, tilting his head into the kiss.

The mottled tom purred deeply, drawing back finally, "I love you." The smaller leaned back in to kiss him again, softly.


	20. This is Harder Then I Thought

Tugger leaned against the bar, glancing around the pub. He had a drink in paw, but was barely drinking from it.

Tumble slipped into the pub, glancing around and making his way over to the bar to order a drink for the evening. He spoke clearly and precisely to the bartender, having not yet noticed the tall leopard-patterned tom a little further down the bar.

However, Tugger had noticed him, his entire posture changing almost instantly. After a moment of consideration he slunk up to the other. "Why, you look like you're all alone here."

The young nobleman glanced at him, "I-I...was w-waiting for somecat."

"Really?" he asked. "Who?"

"I-I...M-Mistoffelees?"

"Mind if I pass the time here then?" Tugger asked with an arched brow.

Tumble swallowed as he picked up the drink the bar tender had put down for him, "I-I...n-no?"

"No you mind or no you don't mind?" Tugger asked with a tilt of his head and a smirk.

"N-no I-I suppose I d-don't mind."

"Excellent," Tugger replied with a grin, leaning in toward him and taking a sip. "How has life been finding you?"

Tumble dropped his gaze to his drink, "F-fine. And y-you?"

"Well, you know, it's been going." He considered the other tom. "You know when you talked to the bartender you spoke perfectly."

"I did?"

"You did," Tugger nodded. "I move up..." he considered how to say it. "Well, your stutter suddenly shows up."

"I-I...d-don't know how to e-explain that."

"Really?" he tilted his head. "Cause I'm inclined to take it a bit personally."

Tumble swallowed, "Y-You shouldn't. You're n-not the only one I st-stammer around."

"Really now?" he asked.

"Y-Yes?" Tumble tried, getting a bit desperate.

Tugger smirked around his next sip. "Well, I'm sure that must make life interesting. What did you want to do again?"

"Wh-what do you m-mean?"

"With your life. Your profession."

"O-oh. Politics."

Tugger couldn't actually help but laugh out loud at that. Tumble's ears lay back, frowning slightly, "What?"

"I'm sorry," Tugger covered his mouth for a moment. "It's just... you stammer and you want to go into speech making."

"Just because I stammer in some company does not mea _n_ I do so at all times, sir," his tone was sharp, and his words clear as he responded.

Tugger laughed again. "Ah, so I see..."

Tumble's ears laced, "What is it you find so amusing?"

"You got angry and spoke completely clearly, it's just... interesting is all."

"I'm glad to find you think it's amusing," Tumble's tail thrashed behind him, his ears flickering.

"Sorry, I don't mean to insult you," Tugger said. "I'm just curious."

"About what?" the noble's son demanded, giving him a sidelong glance.

"You, I suppose."

His ears flickered again, "M-me?"

"Yes, you," Tugger said, grinning.

"But, wh-why?"

Tugger rolled his shoulders gracefully, tilting his head to one side. "Because you're interesting."

Tumble took a drink from his glass, trying to figure out what that meant. He blushed slightly, "H-hardly that."

"You don't find yourself interesting?" Tugger asked, tilting his head and smirking slightly.

"C-certainly not."

"You're too harsh on yourself," Tugger replied, leaning in a bit closer.

Tumble swallowed, considering pulling back a bit, "No. I wouldn't s-say so."

"And why not?"

"Well, why would I be?"

"Interesting? You're a lord's son who stammers, who lets socialists blabber on and is taught the tango, and who meets his friends in disreputable pubs."

"We were m-meeting there to avoid my cousin," he muttered as an excuse.

"That addresses one of the points. But the fact you're avoiding your cousin just adds to the interest," Tugger replied, taking a sip of his own drink.

"I-I...well, there's the...th-that is," he looked away, ears laying back.

"And everything else too," Tugger murmured leaning in closer

He swallowed, leaning back slightly, "Wh-what of you?"

"What about me?" Tugger tilted his head.

"A-a socialist writer who h-has a b-brother who's a lawyer?"

"You forget the others a cop," Tugger grinned.

His ears flickered, "Exactly."

Tugger shrugged, looking around the bustling bar and considering some of the other patrons from a distance. "Please, that's simple. I'm just contrary."

"I-I see..."

"You though, are something else, aren't you?"

"I-I don't think so," the lord's heir shook his head, not meeting the other tom's eyes.

"I would disagree," Tugger said with a shrug.

"I-I don't see why."

"Don't see why you're interesting?" Tugger asked, tilting his head. "Or Why you're something else."

"B-both?"

Tugger took another sip of his drink, arching his brow. "Is there anything that could convince you otherwise?"

"M-maybe a r-reason why I-I am? I-I d-don't know."

"Didn't I give you some earlier?" he asked, tilting his head. "You're a contradiction. I like contrary things, remember?"

"I-I'm...I-I...Y-you...but..."

"Yeah?" Tugger asked.

"But I-I d-don't understand y-you."

"Me? I'm contrary, is there something else you really need to know?"

"M-maybe not?"

"You're still stammering," Tugger pointed out, taking another sip.

"I-I can't think of anything else..."

"Anything you want to know?" Tugger asked.

"No?"

"You're still asking a question," Tugger replied, looking him over.

"I can't think of anything!" Tumble snapped finally.

"Do I rile your fur up?" Tugger asked, tilting his head.

Tumble's ears flickered, "What do y-you mean?"

"What do you mean what do I mean? It's a very simple question. Do I ruffle your fur all out of order because damn do you act like it."

"Alright,  _h-how_  do you mean then?"

"Well, if I irritate you, why do you let me teach you the tango? Why aren't you moving away?"

"W-would you like me to?"

"Move away? You're not the one irritating me, I'm irritating you."

Tumble scowled at his glass, half full still, as he murmured, "Y-you're not..."

"Then what am I doing?"

"N-nothing?" He turned slightly, scanning the pub, seeking some route of escape.

"Then why do you look like you want to run away?"

Tumble's ears flickered back, his breathing speeding up slightly as he sought a reply, "I-I... P-please d-don't p-push this."

"Why not?"

"B-because?" Tumble attempted.

Tugger arched a long eyebrow at him, simply staring at him.

"Wh-what?"

"You don't want me to push something, because?" Tugger's brows just went higher.

"Tumble?" a half surprised voice asked from the side, Mistoffelees having approached from behind them.

Tumble nearly jumped out of his skin at that, backing a good two steps away from Tugger and just about running into Mistoffelees in the process, "M-Misto!"

The smaller cat's eyes widened. "Tumble, calm down. What is going on?"

"N-nothing."

"I'm surprised to see you here," Mistoffelees said, arching his brow. Behind Tumble Tugger's brows shot up and he smirked widely moments later.

Tumble's ears lay back as he realized his excuse was shot to hell suddenly, "R-really? I-I thought we were supposed to be meeting. D-did I have the day wrong?"

"We-what? Tumble, we haven't made plans to meet since dinner and it certainly was not tonight," he said, frowning and glancing around for the meeting he was supposed to be having that evening.

Tumble's ears laced at that, his tail coiling around his leg as he glanced from Tugger to Mistoffelees again, "Y-you're sure? P-perhaps it was Pounce then..."

"Perhaps," Mistoffelees replied, arching his brows further and glancing back at the smirking tom behind Tumble. "Everything alright here?"

Tumble blushed slightly and nodded, "Y-yes. I-I suppose if it was P-pounce, he's f-forgotten. I-I should be on m-my way."

"If you're sure," Mistoffelees replied, Tugger drinking behind Tumble still. Even still his eyes couldn't stop from looking around the area for his own meeting.

Coricopat stepped into the pub, glancing around and smiling when his eyes lit on Mistoffelees. Tumble inclined his head to Misto, "G-good evening." He glanced at Tugger, "A-and to you." He turned to go, nearly colliding with the slender mottled tom. He glanced from Mistoffelees to the taller cat, his brows rising but he slipped out of the pub.

Mistoffelees' jaw dropped and he had to swallow it down quickly. He would have to have a long talk with Tumble the next day.

"Why, Cor," Tugger drawled. "How lovely to see you here."

Coricopat froze, his ears flickering a bit, "Tugger. What a surprise."

"I could say the same," he replied and Mistoffelees paused, before glancing away and muttering something that sounded like, "Ah, a Hollister."

Coricopat nodded slightly, "Yes, a Hollister. What brings you here tonight, Tugger?"

He rolled a shoulder gracefully. "Drinks. Yourself?"

"The same," the solicitor replied.

"Far out of your usual haunt," Tugger replied, glancing at the small black tom who steadily looked back at him.

"A change of scenery. Meeting with friends."

Mistoffelees glanced back toward Coricopat, biting the inside of his. "You, change scenery?" Tugger raised his brows. "Don't you only do that once every what, ten years?"

Coricopat's eyes narrowed, "Don't you have a paper to write?"

Tugger rolled his shoulders, smirking. "Not tonight."

"I see. Well, it was good to see you."

"Sure," Tugger said, lifting his drink in a mock salute. "Enjoy your friend."

Coricopat rolled his eyes, turning from the bar and motioning toward a secluded table, glancing at Mistoffelees, "Shall we?"

The smaller tom finally offered him a smile and moved over to the table, his tail swaying behind him. "How are you this evening?" Coricopat enquired once they were away from Tugger.

"Alright," Mistoffelees replied, smiling faintly at him. "A date has been set finally for Plato and Victoria's wedding but other than that."

"How soon?"

"Soon," he replied, glancing down and finally back up. "Probably too soon but the preparations have been made and he wants the wedding before the end of the social season."

Coricopat sighed, "I'm sorry to hear that."

"So am I," he replied. "I just..."

"Wish you could do more?"

"Yes," he said, fiddling with the fork he found on the table. "I'm powerless when it comes to things like this."

"I'm sorry," the mottled tom said faintly.

"You're hardly at fault. Plato would be more at fault but you hardly are."

"Nevertheless, I wish I could do more."

"Thank you," he said, smiling faintly. "I wish I could do more too."

Coricopat nodded slightly, "Well, I wish her as much luck as she may have."

"Thank you for that as well," he said, glancing down.

"Of course."

Mistoffelees looked up. "How are your other clients doing?"

"Well enough I suppose. I of course can't discuss it really, but the estates are going well, and we're still working through what few problems there are."

"Of course," Mistoffelees nodded. "As long as it is all going well."

"So far it seems to be."

"I'm glad," he smiled.

"How are plans for politics going?"

The smaller cat winced. "About as well as watching my cousin prepare to marry Plato Philipson."

"Oh, Mistoffelees..." Coricopat started softly.

"I'm sorry," the smaller tom murmured, glancing down again. "I shouldn't brood."

"Don't apologize, it's what is on your mind."

"Still," he said quietly. "Has... that tom been around at all?"

Coricopat shook his head, "No, thank God."

"Well that's something at least," Mistoffelees said softly.

The mottled tom nodded, "Perhaps he's been diverted and will stay diverted."

"Wouldn't that be nice. Do you think we could divert Plato?"

"From his marriage? Unlikely..."

"Damn," Mistoffelees said but offered the other tom a smile anyway.

Coricopat returned the smile, "You have a wonderful smile, you know that?"

"I," the smaller cat blinked hazel eyes wide. "I do?"

"You do," his lover assured him.

"I," his ears flickered back, blushing.

"Yes?"

"This is harder than I thought, and easier at the same time. I can' quite decide."

"Well, it certainly is a puzzlement if nothing else."

Mistoffelees arched a brow. "Oh? I'm wondering if we're talking about the same thing or not."

"Possibly?" Coricopat smiled faintly, "I think I lost the thread of conversation about three minutes ago."

The smaller cat couldn't help but smile. "Where'd you lose it?"

"Not entirely certain I recall..." He chuckled a bit, "Perhaps right around that distracting smile of yours."

That got another broad smile. "Well, I just meant that I find it entirely difficult to be holding a conversation halfway across a table, and yet it feels easy enough to be talking to you."

Coricopat looked a bit sheepish, "Ah, yes, I suppose it does. And is. I guess that was about half of what I was thinking of."

The smaller cat laughed. "Though you were distracted."

"I find that happens a lot around you."

"Is that a compliment?" the noble asked, arching a brow, just a little playful.

"Yes, I consider it as such."

"I'm glad, but this just got harder."

"Oh? Am I making this more difficult for you, Mr. Quaxo?"

"Extremely, Mr. Zimmerman," he drawled.

"Well, we could call it a night here. How late are you out tonight?"

"Very late," he replied softly.

"We have a chess game we never started..."

"I believe a chess game would be an excellent end to an evening," Mistoffelees returned, still playful past his suddenly dry throat.

"Shall we adjourn then?"

"Yes," Mistoffelees replied, rising quickly. Coricopat chuckled at that, rising as well before starting for the door. Trailing after him, the smaller cat took a deep breath before leaving the pub.

v.v.v.v

Alonzo glanced up when there was a loud, brash knock at the door. Rising, he glanced around the flat before opening the door. "Can I help you?" he asked.

Tugger looked him over. "Hey, yeah, 'Straps around?"

Munkustrap looked up from his book, shaking his head at his flat mate, really hoping the other would lie for him.

"Ummmm..." Alonzo blinked back at the apartment before turning back to the taller tom. "No."

"Sure. I hope you lie better to others," Tugger said, shaking his head. "Can I come in?"

"I don't think that... Oh," Alonzo said as the larger cat barreled past him.

Munkus sighed, "Hello, Tugger, you could try a little common courtesy sometimes."

"You're the one who lied to me saying you weren't home, sorry, had your flat mate law."

Alonzo glanced between them.

"Won't you sit down?" Munkustrap said finally.

Tugger plopped down, looking his brother over. "Thanks so much for that common courtesy."

"What brings you here, Tugger?" his brother asked.

"Had a question. You being all law enforcement type."

"Oh dear...what is that?"

"What are the sodomy laws?" Tugger asked. Alonzo just about choked from where he'd been closing the door.

"I'll go make some tea then, shall I?" The black and white tom offered, heading for the kitchen.

Munkustrap paled, "Wh-what?"

"It's a simple question," Tugger replied. "What are the sodomy laws?"

"That depends on which ones you mean," Munkustrap managed after a moment.

"There's more than one group?" Tugger blinked, somewhat surprised at that news.

"Why do you want to know?" he returned.

"What the laws are. Laws are pretty black and white aren't they?"

"Why, Tugger?"

There was a split pause before Tugger shrugged. "Writin' an editorial is all."

Munkustrap frowned at that, "Must you?" He sighed, "The laws vary depending on the mood of those trying the case, whether or not the accused was actually caught in the act, etc. etc. etc."

"Which doesn't tell me what the actual law is."

"For being caught in the act? Life imprisonment. Otherwise the maximum sentence is two years, but that could be either with or without hard labor-few cats not of the working class, and even those of it, would manage to pull those two years off without irreparable damage to their health, if they survived it in the first place."

For a long moment Tugger's golden eyes widened. "Life imprisonment? Seriously?"

"It could be worse. Forty years ago it was the death penalty."

"For a private act?" Tugger still looked shocked. He really should have been more aware of this, with the trials of the author last year. But he had been not quite paying attention then.

"They call it indecency now but yes."

"But that's outrageous," he protested.

"It's the law, either way," Munkustrap said with a shrug before continuing. "Why are you asking?"

"Editorial," Tugger replied, sitting back further. "I told you that already."

Munkus frowned, "Just go carefully, Tugger. This is an actual law you're talking about here, not sensibilities."

"It's an article in a paper no one reads, remember," Tugger said with a shrug as Alonzo re-entered the room with the tea.

"Just be careful, Tug."

Tugger arched a brow. "When am I not? Come on, what do you think I'm actually going to do?"

"I don't know. That's why I'm concerned."

"Concerned about me? Surely not," the younger brother drawled, slouching back into the chair and eying Alonzo's tea.

The silver tabby frowned, "Tugger..."

"What?" he asked, throwing his arms wide.

"Forget it," Munkustrap shook his head.

"No, seriously brother mine, what was it?"

"Nothing. I do worry about you. You tread a thin line."

"But I stay on this side of it," Tugger said, as much stating a fact as trying to reassure his brother of the fact.

"Good, try to keep it that way, please."

"I do my damnest," Tugger said. The tabby sighed, nodding. "How are things with you?" Tugger continued after a second.

"Things are going well enough. There's been a few hitches in the latest cases, but beyond that not bad."

"Well, I'm sure hitches happen," Tugger shrugged.

"Yes, usually they can be maneuvered around...but they'll even out eventually I'm certain."

"I sure hope so," Tugger said.

"So do we. Beyond this new editorial, how are things with you?"

Tugger shrugged. "Oh, you know, writing. Bomba's on some kick or another about keeping the place ink free."

Munkus smiled a bit at that, "Well, one can hardly blame her for that..."

"She remembers where she lives right?" Tugger asked, arching a brow. "Besides, I only spilled ink all over her shawl once, okay?"

Munkus' brows arched, "Was it a favorite shawl?"

"It... might have been?"

"Yeah, you're probably never going to be forgiven for that one," the silver tabby shook his head.

Tugger let out a huff of breath. "She has so many shawls though!"

Munkustrap laughed, "That's not the point though."

"What is the point then?" Tugger huffed.

"The point is it was a favorite item, not how many she had."

Tugger pouted for a moment. "Fine, fine." He paused. "Did you two really never hear about each other until the other night?"

"No, you had never mentioned her," Munkus shook his head slightly.

"Wow," Tugger shook his head. "I could have sworn she had come up in conversation."

"It was a bit of a surprise, I'll admit. She seems a nice sort."

"She is," Tugger replied, voice actually fond.

Munkus smiled faintly, "You like her."

"I've lived with her in mostly harmony for what, four years now? Course I like her," Tugger replied.

"Good. How long has she been acting?"

"Since before I met her. Why?"

"Just curious," Munkustrap smoothed past the question.

"Sure. On you? Just curious looks like investigation," Tugger replied, shaking his head but grinning.

Munkus looked a bit sheepish, "Well, I am honestly just curious. She's quite good."

"Good? Did you got see her play or something?"

"I...yes, actually I went to the theater recently and she was performing at that particular venue."

"Really?" Tugger arched his brows higher. "And you weren't just snooping around?"

"I was not just snooping around. Believe it or not I do have other things I do from time to time."

"Course you do," Tugger smirked, not looking like he believed him

Munkus scowled at his brother, "Anything else I can do for you tonight?"

"No, suppose not," Tugger said, rising. "Thanks for the help on the editorial."

"Of course. Go carefully."

"It's just an editorial," Tugger replied, shrugging and heading for the door.

Munkustrap frowned, but nodded, "Fair enough, I expect to see it."

"You will," Tugger assured.

"Good day, Tugger."

"Night, 'Straps," Tugger said, opening the door and closing it behind himself. He was rattled by what he heard, though he was doing everything he could not to show it.

Munkus watched him go, leaning back in the chair, he'd have to speak to their elder brother soon about this. Alonzo looked up from where he had been hiding himself behind the newspaper. "That was interesting."

"…That's one term for it, yes."

"It's the most neutral one I could come up with," Alonzo replied.

"Thank you for that tact."

"It's part of my job," the black and white tom replied. "Do you think there is going to be an actual problem here?"

"God, I hope not, but it's Tugger I never know for sure."

"Not a lot of faith in you brother?" Alonzo smiled faintly. "You want some tea at least?"

"Well, since you brewed it I certainly won't say no to it," Munkus nodded with a faint smile. Alonzo rose gracefully, picking up a cup from the kitchen and returning with it. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Alonzo replied sitting down again and considering his flat mate.

Munkustrap sipped at the tea, glancing at the other, "What is it?"

Alonzo shrugged. "I don't know. Hopefully nothing."

"That's not a comforting addendum there."

Alonzo chuckled. "I'm sorry. But if you're brother was serious about that... what are you going to do?"

"I have no idea... The first thing is to find out if there's any  _who_  that he might be serious about that  _with_."

"A good plan of action," Alonzo nodded. "Good luck."

"Thanks…" Munkustrap shook his head, not sure luck was really what he currently needed. But hopefully it would be enough.


	21. A Legitimate Excuse

Mistoffelees considered his pocket watch from where he was still wrapped around Coricopat. The mottled tom lazily traced a paw down Mistoffelees' arm, "When do you have to leave?"

"Soon," he replied, setting the pocket watch down on the side of the bed and nuzzling up against Coricopat's chest.

Coricopat grimaced, "I suppose that means I'm going to eventually have to release you, hm?"

"Eventually," Mistoffelees said quietly, kissing his collarbone instead of moving to get up.

The lawyer tilted his head enough to kiss the tip of Mistoffelees' ear.

The black ear flickered, batting Coricopat in the face and the cat it was attached to let out a huff of breath. Coricopat chuckled, repeating the action. Shifting around it, Mistoffelees drew his head back finally. "I'm not going to be able to convince myself to leave if you keep doing that."

"I...should stop then?"

"Probably," he said softly but leaned in to kiss Coricopat anyway.

The older cat purred, pressing gently into the kiss, "I love you."

Paws on either side of Coricopat's head, Mistoffelees just leaned further into the kiss for the moment. The mottled tom wrapped his arms around the other, pulling him closer, one paw trailing up his back.

Shifting into that touch, Mistoffelees purred faintly. "I need to go..." he said, pulling back enough that their breath was still mingled though he could speak.

The solicitor sighed, but nodded, "I know."

"It's getting harder," Mistoffelees said quietly.

"It is...but we can't do anything about that," his lover murmured.

"I'm a dreamer, remember?" he said, voice still soft. "I just  _wish_  somedays..."

"I know. I know." Coricopat sighed again, "We have to make do with what we have."

"Yes," he said softly, kissing the mottled tom again.

"You do need to be going..."

With a long sigh, Mistoffelees finally pushed himself up and off the bed, stretching. "I wouldn't give this up though," he murmured, almost more to himself. "Even if it is hard."

"I'm glad. I know I couldn't bring myself to."

Mistoffelees glanced back at him as he worked on his cravat and smiled. "Life seems different, with you around."

"Good different?" Coricopat asked quietly as he rose, starting to get dressed as well.

"Which sort of different do you think I could possibly mean?" Mistoffelees asked softly, smiling at him. "Of course good."

The lawyer smiled, working on the buttons of his shirt, "I just wanted to make certain."

Moving over, Mistoffelees batted his paws away and buttoned the shift instead. "Well, you can be certain of that then."

Coricopat brushed a lock of Mistoffelees' headfur back affectionately, "We'll make it."

"I hope so," he said, glancing up quickly and back down to what he was doing.

"I do wish we had a better way to meet, though."

"Longer was what I was thinking," he replied quietly. Finishing with the buttons, he didn't step back, leaving his paws were he could feel the other's heartbeat. "In public it might be easier if I actually hired you. It's a legitimate excuse."

Coricopat's ears flickered, "We would have to speak with Bailey. Or I would..."

There was a pause and Mistoffelees couldn't help but laugh a little helpless, burying his face in Coricopat's chest. "Oh, that's what started all of this wasn't it?"

The solicitor smiled a bit, "Yes, that's what started all of this."

"What excuse did you give him anyway? I remember it was enough to anger my uncle but you could hardly have been honest with him."

"I told him that I was having personal difficulty working with you and I couldn't seem to refrain from saying what was on my mind."

"Well that later part was entirely true. Tell him I am eccentric and prefer that in an employee. That's honest too."

Coricopat kissed him lightly, "I'll give that a try."

"Alright. I do need some legal advice after all but it would be..." he paused. "An excuse."

"And could certainly give us more time together..."

"Yes," Mistoffelees said, finally stepping back with a swallow. "More time." It never felt like there was enough and this had barely even started.

"I should let you go now..."

Getting his vest and jacket on, Mistoffelees paused another moment before all but plastering himself against the other cat, kissing him hard. Coricopat's arms wrapped around him and he purred, pressing into the kiss for a moment before backing up a bit, "I love you."

"Yeah, I love you too," Mistoffelees murmured, tracing a paw across his cheekbone.

Coricopat leaned into the touch, "I'll speak with Bailey tomorrow."

"Alright," he said quietly. "H-have a good day then. I'll see you soon?"

"As soon as we can both viably make the excuse."

Mistoffelees nodded, once more kissing the mottled tom, lightly this time. Then he finally drew back enough to turn for the door. Coricopat sighed, watching him go, "Take care."

"You too," he said softly before heading out the door.

v.v.v.v

Coricopat entered the office the next day, glancing toward Bailey's office door as he hung up his coat and hat. He hesitated for a long moment before moving over and knocking on the closed door. Macavity brow's shot up, but he remained quiet. Inside the office Bill Bailey's own brows rose as he called for the door to be open.

The mottled tom slipped inside, closing the door behind himself, "Sir?"

"What can I do for you, Mr. Zimmerman?"

"Mistoffelees Quaxo approached me yesterday and asked to hire me as his personal lawyer." He got right to the point, knowing he had other things that needed to be done that day.

Getting to the point however had the side effect of leaving his employer blinking in shock for several long moments."Excuse me? Mr. Quaxo as in the Baron Jones' nephew?"

Coricopat nodded, "Yes, sir."

"Asked you to work for him," Bailey continued. "Did you agree to his proposition?"

"I was considering doing so, yes."

"Despite in fact changing from being one of Jones' clients expressly because of issues you had with the tom in question?"

"I...at the time I feared my tendency to honesty around him being indecorous. He...is apparently eccentric and liked that aspect of our exchanges."

Bailey still didn't look entirely impressed. "You believe you will be able to work with him then?"

Coricopat nodded once, "Yes, sir. I believe it will be possible."

"Well, I can hardly say no to a client like that. But you had better be very sure about your ability to handle his business first."

"I give you my word, sir, that I have Mr. Quaxo's interests in mind and I shall handle his business with the expertise you know I possess."

"Good. Carry on then," Bailey said, waving a paw to dismiss his employee. Coricopat offered him a bow before slipping out of the office and heading to his desk.

"That went well?" Macavity offered, having eavesdropped on the entire conversation.

He nodded, "Quite well, yes."

"Working for him now?" Macavity asked, keeping his voice rather neutral.

"You were listening at the door again."

"Not entirely," Macavity replied. "Well, alright, for the most part yes. Are you?"

"I am, yes," Coricopat answered.

"How's that going to go then?" Macavity asked, voice low.

"Well, hopefully. It gives us a legitimate reason to meet."

"Suppose that's something," Macavity said after a moment, leaning back and looking like he was considering something quite seriously.

"What?"

"What do you mean by what?" Macavity asked, glancing up.

"I mean there was a pause there and you've usually a reason behind them."

"Well," he shrugged. "It just seems like you're walking on a tightwire that's going to break while you're halfway across is all."

Coricopat's ears flickered a bit at that, thinking of Franklin, "Well, here's hoping it doesn't." Macavity nodded, looking down. "Everything alright with you?" Coricopat attempted after another second.

"Sure," he replied. "Me? Why would there be an issue there?"

"I didn't say there was, I asked if everything was going alright."

"Yeah," he replied, just a little rough around the edges. "Everything is going alright."

Coricopat's brow rose, and he considered not pressing it, "Have you seen Miss Jones lately?"

"Yeah?" Macavity glanced up. "Why?"

"Mistoffelees mentioned the date's been set."

Something tightened in Macavity's face and he nodded. "Well, at least that takes away the uncertainty."

Coricopat looked his partner over, "What do you think of her?"

"What do you mean?" Macavity asked, finally glancing up at him.

"What do you mean what do I mean? It's a simple enough question."

"She's a noble, who has been recently engaged," Macavity replied with a shrug. "She's a client. Rather she's sweet and maybe with a bit of humor is of little consequence."

"She's not the client, her father is," Cori corrected. "Her aunt seems to think the two of you are taken with one another," he finally came out and said it.

Macavity blinked at him. "Maybe she's taken to flights of fancy."

"Perhaps so," Coricopat returned, but clearly didn't look like he believed that.

Macavity shrugged. "Nothing could come of it anyway"

"That doesn't mean you're doing alright, though."

"But I am," Macavity insisted.

"Alright, very well. If you ever find yourself not you know where to find me, and I'm more than willing to listen."

"Thank you," Macavity replied, looking like he already planned on never taking the offer up.

Coricopat sighed, nodding, "Of course."

v.v.v.v

Munkustrap had talked the cat at the stage door into letting him backstage before the performance, he slipped through the nearly empty theatre, seeking out Bombalurina.

The red queen was mostly dressed for the performance, a shawl over her shoulders even in the summer, looking at her hair in a mirror when she heard the paw steps, turning in some surprise to see Munkustrap there. He offered her a faint smile, "Good afternoon, Miss Harris."

"Mr. Hollister," she greeted. "May I help you with something?"

"I...actually I had a question regarding Tugger..."

Bomba's brows just rose. "Dare I ask what that question may be?"

"I give you my word that this is out of concern for him. I assume you've read his latest editorial?"

There was a pause and then she nodded. "Yes, I did."

"I..." He drew a deep breath, "I was wondering if there was a who that he might possibly be considering violating said laws with? He came asking me about them recently, and I haven't been able to stop worrying about it since."

Bombalurina blinked once, slowly. "You mean the laws against sodomy?"

He winced at that, nodding, "Yes, those ones."

"I, well," she paused a long moment and glanced over at where Jemima was just coming out of her own room. "Jemi, darling," she called out, and eyes widening the younger queen made her way over.

Munkustrap glanced in the direction of the ingénue, inclining his head to her.

"Yes?" the smaller queen asked.

"Jemi, this is Munkustrap, Tugger's older brother."

"Oh," Jemi said, eyes widening and bobbing a curtsy. "It's wonderful to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine, Miss," The silver tabby offered her a bow

"Jemi," Bomba turned to the younger queen who returned the look with wide eyes.

"Yes?"

"Do you remember that patched tom, the one who came in with your own patched tom?" Bomba asked.

"You mean Lord Tumblebrutus Carpenter?" Jemi asked.

"Yes, that one," Bomba nodded. Munkustrap's ears lay back and he glanced at Bomba in alarm, a Lord's son?

Bomba frowned. "Well, did he ever come back?"

Jemi blushed. "Yes."

"May I ask if anything happened?" Munkus finally spoke again.

"Well, he," she blushed worse at being addressed by Munkustrap. Her ears flickered slightly. "Well, you know that dance he's learned, the one from the sailors?" Bomba nodded. "He taught that to Lord Carpenter."

Munkustrap paled at that, narrowly avoiding swearing in front of the two queens. Bomba gaped at her. "And Carpenter let him?"

She nodded quietly. "Yes."

"Oh heavens..." Munkustrap breathed, his mind tracking what he knew of the legal system and where this could easily end up.

Bomba ran a paw over her face before turning back to Munkustrap. "Did that answer your question?"

"Unfortunately yes...How likely is this that it's mere infatuation? Or a rebellion on my brother's part?" The questions sounded as though he was uncertain both of the answer and of the asking itself.

Bomba paused and shrugged, Jemima still blushing. "I don't know," she said, having been the one to see them the most together.

He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment as he nodded, "Thank you. Both of you."

"Of course," Jemi murmured, bobbing another curtsy and scurrying away.

Munkustrap watched her go, before turning to look at Bomba, "Do you have any suggestions?"

"About what to do with them?" she asked. "It might be nothing. It might be a phase. But it is Tugger."

"That's what concerns me." He shook his head, his ears lowering, "I don't know what to do. Beyond pray that he's careful."

"Yes," she replied. "Well, banging him upside the head or locking him in the house might work but..."

"But I can't viably do either of those either. I'll talk to Mac, see if he has any suggestions..."

"Your oldest brother?"

Munkus nodded, "Yes, also known as the other one I have no idea what to do with..."

She laughed quietly. "At least he's charming. What has he done lately?"

"Lately? I can't say for certain. I can never say for certain, but there are a half dozen things I suspect him of doing that concern me enough," Munkus smiled wryly, "And charming is entirely depending on who he's interacting with."

Bomba smiled faintly and nodded. "Well, he's quite charming with the queens then." She did not press on what he did that was concerning.

The silver tabby chuckled, shaking his head again, "I will grant you that." His gaze swept around, "I should let you finish getting ready..."

"It would probably be wise," she replied. "Unless you would like to stay for the play."

He considered that offer, "I think this evening I should go speak with Mac, but perhaps I might come tomorrow?"

"You're welcome any time," she assured and questioned why she had the next moment.

He offered her a smile and a bow, "In that case...break a leg, I believe is the term?"

"Yes," she said, voice warming. "It is." Inclining her head, she glanced at the mirror again, making sure her hair was correct. "Have a good evening, Mr. Hollister."

"And you, Miss Harris." He offered her a gentle smile in the mirror before slipping out. She stood there a while after he left, just considering her reflection in the mirror before scowling slightly and turning away to finish preparations for the performance.


	22. Do You Still Take the Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though any marriage between Plato and Victoria could be considered rape at this point, it's not actually written out in the story, which is why I felt like the archive warning wasn't necessary like it is in another story. However, this is the chapter in which the marriage happens, and in case anyone would rather I change the warning, I am willing to listen.

Mistoffelees glanced around the cafe area, fiddling with his cup of coffee while waiting. Coricopat entered a couple of minutes late, moving quickly over to the table, "Terribly sorry, got caught up with some concerns at the office."

"It's fine," Mistoffelees replied, tilting his head back to smile at him. "Did you bring the papers.

"I did," He offered him a faint smile, sitting down and withdrawing the right paperwork from his briefcase.

Setting the coffee aside, Mistoffelees drew the papers to him, offering Coricopat a soft smile before it changed slightly. "Don't get distracted," he said quietly before bowing his head over the words.

The solicitor chuckled, "I'm sure I can avoid that for now."

"Good," Mistoffelees murmured. "How are you faring this day?"

"I'm doing quite well, actually, and yourself?"

"Well," he replied. "A bit busy but well."

"I'm glad to hear it."

Coricopat picked up the menu, glancing over it, "How long do we have today?"

"Hour, or so," he replied, not wanting to take his eyes off Coricopat long enough to look at the menu. "It's not much today, but tomorrow I might actually be able to sneak away."

"If it's possible that would be delightful. I've the afternoon tomorrow, considering the weekend."

"Do you think if I snuck into your house I could manage to stay a couple days at that point?" Mistoffelees asked, with a faint smile.

That earned a smile, "depends on if you would be missed."

"I could just convince Tumble to say I went with him for a few days," Mistoffelees replied. "He's heading to the country to do a few things."

"Well, if you think that would work I see no reason against it."

"Could see if I could pull it off," Mistoffelees replied, finally looking at the menu. "So long as you were stocked enough that  _I_  didn't have to go outside."

"I shall see to it to the best of my abilities," Coricopat replied, finally setting the menu aside.

The black tom was smiling fondly at him across the table. "We're quite the pair, aren't we?" he murmured.

That garnered a small smile, "Is that a good thing?"

"I think it's an insane thing," the Baron's heir replied.

"But is insanity always bad?" his solicitor pressed.

"Maybe not," Mistoffelees replied, pulling at the fork on the table. "Until it crashes and burns and tears itself apart it's not a bad thing at all. I'm just frightened it could become one."

"Then we do everything we can to keep it from becoming one. I'm not willing to lose you, Mistoffelees."

"Thank you," he said softly after a moment of watching the other. A shadow fell across the table and Mistoffelees glanced up, fully expecting it to be the waiter and nearly froze when he saw it was Plato instead.

"Mistoffelees," the patched tom said with a small leer. "Having lunch then?"

Coricopat looked up at the patched tom, one eyebrow arching at the sudden appearance. He kept his mouth shut, waiting for an introduction.

"A business lunch," Mistoffelees replied.

"Please," Plato said, pulling a chair out and sitting, Mistoffelees' hazel eyes widening. "Our kind don't have business luncheons. Who's this then?"

The black tom looked like he wanted to do anything else but introduce them. "Coricopat Zimmerman, this is Plato Philipson. Plato, Mr. Zimmerman."

Coricopat offered Plato a cordial smile and offered his paw, "A pleasure, Mr. Philipson."

Plato looked him up and down, not offering his paw in exchange. "Oh. He is a business person, isn't he?"

"I said it was a business lunch, didn't I?"

The solicitor withdrew his paw, managing not to frown at the patched tom when what he really wished to do was throw the young lordling out on his ear.

"How philistine of you," Plato said, giving Mistoffelees a feral grin. "I expected better of you, that associating with the lower classes."

"Solicitors are hardly lower classes," Mistoffelees said, scowling.

"No, you're right, lawyers are entirely a class all their own," Plato said.

That garnered a tight smile from Coricopat, "Often we are simply dispossessed siblings of our esteemed lords."

"Please," Plato waved a paw in dismissal. "The sons worth anything go to India."

"Yes because being productive within the borders of a country one loves is a worthless ideal," the mottled tom murmured.

Plato's smile just became colder. "It's better than being considered another species, don't' you think?"

"Lawyers are hardly-" Mistoffelees started to protest.

"Hush," Plato waved a paw at him.

"We are a different ilk than other cats, but I can hardly admit to being ashamed of that, as we are necessary for your lives to run smoothly," Coricopat responded, coolly.

Plato chuckled low at that before turning back to Mistoffelees. "I assume you shall be attending the wedding in two weeks? It is supposed to be the last worthwhile event of the season."

"Only because it is far after the normal season ends," Mistoffelees returned. Coricopat glanced between the two but turned to see if he could spot a waiter.

That just got another laugh from Plato. "You sound like you don't approve."

"It is a quick marriage," Mistoffelees returned. "And you know I don't."

The solicitor finally glanced back, "This is your marriage to Victoria Jones, correct?"

"Of course," Plato said, sounding huffy a lawyer had spoken to him. "I am hardly marrying more than one queen."

"I wish you would marry another," Mistoffelees muttered.

"Aren't you excited to welcome me into your family?" Plato drawled. "You used to be so fond of me."

"It does seem rather a short engagement," Coricopat sipped at his water glass.

Plato scowled at him again. "It is all that is needed, once the paperwork is complete. Isn't paperwork the only thing you need to worry about?"

"There are usually other things that are helpful. Legally, yes, paperwork is what needs to be worried about, but most cats are more than figures and words on a page."

Plato rolled his eyes at that, turning back to Mistoffelees. "Where did you pick this one up? You used to have such good taste."

Below the table, Mistoffelees' tail curled up. "You mean yourself?"

"But of course," Plato smirked. "It's been such a long time since we had a good chat together."

"I wonder why," Mistoffelees drawled, not a question in the least.

Coricopat glanced between them, the conversation echoing eerily to the one he'd had with Franklin.

"Because you forget who your friends are?" Plato replied.

"Or I learned who they are," Mistoffelees snapped in reply. "Which is not you."

Coricopat cut in again, "Are you here to meet with someone, Mr. Philipson?"

"No," he replied. "Just for lunch." He didn't even ask if they minded.

"Well," Mistoffelees said, rising. "I believe there is business we must deal with, Mr. Zimmerman?"

The mottled tom nodded slightly, rising as well, "I do believe so. Best to do it in a different venue, I believe, Mr. Quaxo."

Mistoffelees nodded, looking at Plato. "I'm sure I will see you soon," he said, noticing Plato's smirk.

"Oh, I'm sure," Plato replied, inclining his head and picking up his menu.

Coricopat gathered up the papers and slid them into his briefcase, "Good day to you, Mr. Philipson."

He waved at both of them, still smirking. Mistoffelees glanced once at Coricopat before turning quickly to leave.

The mottled tom followed him out of the restaurant, "Well, that was interesting."

"Hm," Mistoffelees hummed. "If you would like to put it that way."

"What was he to you?" Coricopat murmured, glancing at the other tom.

"The tom about to marry my cousin who was an old school friend," Mistoffelees replied. "There is really nothing more to say. We might have been friends at one point."

The mottled tom's ears flicked back at that, but he finally nodded, "Very well."

For a second the black tom glanced up at him and back away. "You really don't push things, do you? For all your honestly and your profession I keep thinking you're going to."

Coricopat glanced at him, "Do you want me to push? I cannot deny I wish to know. And frankly feel I have some right to know, though the street isn't the best place to discuss it."

"No," Mistoffelees said, looking across the way. "I suppose the street is not." He wanted to reach out, touch the other tom and reassure himself but kept his paws firmly in his coat pockets instead. "I just," he paused at a corner and looked back at the mottled tom. "It's hard. It's not something I've ever discussed before."

Pulling his coat a bit closer about him, the taller tom shook his head slightly, "I don't doubt that." He sighed, "Will you tell me though?"

"Maybe," Mistoffelees admitted. "If my resolve lasts me until we're in private."

Coricopat nodded and hailed a cab. He hesitated when a growler pulled to a stop in front of them. Glancing at the man beside him, he opened the door of the cab and waited for the other to enter before giving the cabbie his address and joining the other. It gave Mistoffelees the option to wait til they returned to his flat, or to speak in the privacy afforded by the cab.

For a moment Mistoffelees just looked out the window, considering the London buildings that passed them by. "He was my lover, once," he said, trying to make the statement as simple as possible.

"Your," Coricopat drew a deep breath, his gaze moving to the window. "Were you ever going to mention this? That your cousin's fiancé just happens to be your former lover?"

"Not if I could help it," Mistoffelees admitted. "He was always a bastard and a scoundrel. It was just easier to handle when he spent his time trying to woo me. Since then his real character has become much more readily apparent to me."

The older tom shook his head slightly, "And now you'll be stuck with him as a relative. He's toying with you about your past relationship, and you just have to take it. It's galling is what it is." At least Coricopat had pretty much always known what he was dealing with when it came to his own past relationship. He had known going in that Franklin was a bastard and it likely wouldn't last and whether it did or not it could easily be hellish.

"Yes," Mistoffelees said, tone short but not because of the other. "Nor can I explain to my cousin exactly… exactly what I know of him or how. So I have to sit back and watch, unable to do a damned thing in the world."

The mottled tom bit back the first several things which came to mind, finally shaking his head, "I'm sorry to hear that. I do wish there was something I could do to help you. Neither you nor your cousin should have to go through this."

Mistoffelees met his eyes from across the cab. "But we are," he said, voice soft.

Coricopat dropped his gaze, murmuring in reply, "I know. And there is nothing any of us can do about it. It does not keep me from wishing that there was."

"No," Mistoffelees agreed with a strained smile. "There's nothing to stop you from wishing and even dreaming."

That earned a faint smile, "Not a thing to stop someone dreaming." He hesitated before moving to sit on the same side of the cab as Mistoffelees, "Do you still take the time to dream and hope?"

"What do you mean?" the smaller said, looking up at him with a frown.

"I mean, what do you dream of? Or do you even bother building dreams?"

The smaller tom blinked at him a moment more, finally cracking a smile. "All the dreams I want to have now are impossible. It's one thing to dream of the improbable happening, another of the entirely impossible. The life I want, with you, is an impossible dream now. I don't know what else to dream of."

Coricopat rested his paw against the other's cheek, "Surely they aren't completely impossible. I mean, a permanent situation of living a life together is an impossibility, but there are times we can take between the two of us, aren't there?"

"There are times," Mistoffelees agreed. "Moments we can have that I enjoy. That I spend the rest of my day longing for. But on a whole? I dream of a life with you, not just moments."

"And perhaps someday we can have the hope of finding a way to have that. But it may not be for a very long time. I love you, Mistoffelees Quaxo, and I'm holding out for that dream, as much of a will o' the wisp as it may be."

Offering him a smile, Mistoffelees leaned against his hand for a moment as the cab came to a stop. "I should let you go," he said, voice soft. "Because if I come inside with you, I'll only miss the deadline for when I need to leave."

Coricopat hesitated before kissing the other briefly, "As I said earlier, I have the afternoon off tomorrow and the weekend immediately following that. If you are still interested in coming to stay at the flat for a day or two."

"I'll do my hardest to come," Mistoffelees said, with a faint smile. "Good luck until then." The mottled tom offered him a wan smile before stepping out of the cab and heading inside to his flat.

The small tom watched the other leave with a sigh, before letting his head thud back against the carriage as it started to roll off again, taking him back to the townhouse. Already preparations were underway for the move back to the country, though Mistoffelees would stay through the winter for the most part, when he was not traveling through his district in an attempt to get votes. Other preparations were underway for the wedding, and quite frankly he wished he could avoid those as well.

But the date was approaching and no cat could or would stop it.

v.v.v.v

The wedding between Plato Philipson and Victoria Jones was the last social event of the season. Some of the older crowd questioned how quickly it had been arranged and put forth, but no one questioned Bustopher Jones' taste in the affair.

The ceremony went off without a complication, the bride a lovely sight to all except one Macavity Hollister who quite hated the wedding dress. She then was whisked off to her new husband's home but briefly before they set out for Italy.

Entering the townhouse that night, Mistoffelees barely made it up to the library before sagging against the back of the door.

Serafine had debated with herself for a long time after returning home from the wedding. Finally deciding that she needed to check in on the young tom she left her boudoir and made her way down to the library, knocking softly on the thick door. She could only hope he was there and neither still out nor in his chambers for the night.

Her son hesitated on the other side of the door before moving to open it. He'd braced himself for either Jones or a servant, and let out a sigh of relief at seeing the queen. "Mother," he greeted softly.

"Mistoffelees," she returned quietly. "May I come in?" Her amber gaze swept over her son, taking note of his appearance and expression.

"Of course," he said, stepping back and holding the door for her. "Can I help you in any way tonight?"

Sera shook her head slightly as she entered, "I actually came to ask you that same question. How are you doing?"

"Bitter," he returned, bluntly honest for once. "I still think I'll wake up and it'll be yesterday and there could still be something to stop this. But there's not and it seems much more final tonight. But I'll muddle through, if that's what you're asking. I'm hardly turning to drink or anything else destructive."

"I should certainly hope you aren't. Turning to drink over this would likely only worsen matters. And I wasn't really asking how you would be doing, but how you are doing. Is there anything I might do for you tonight?" She ran a paw over the black velvet trim of her dress, one of her claws trialing along the very edge of it.

Mistoffelees' eyes watched the movement and he sighed, going back to sit in one of the chairs he'd ordered upon returning home. "Right now I am only angry and bitter, but that can only pass in time. Thank you for the sentiment though. I'm sorry I cannot be more reassuring."

Serafine offered him a sad smile at that, moving over and sitting down in one of the other chairs, "It is no more than I expected, and I hardly came here for reassurance."

Her son arched a brow at that. "Reassurance?" he asked, taken aback by the word choice more than what she meant by it.

She looked at him for a moment, "Is there something the matter with that? I came to see how you were, not to be placated by how you think you ought to be."

"Unexpected, perhaps," he replied after a pause. "I'm sorry."

Sighing softly, Serafine shook her head, "There's no need for you to be sorry, Mistoffelees. It has been a long and trying day, and your reactions are to be expected."

"Thank you then, for coming to check on me," he said, looking over her face. "How do you fare this evening?"

Her façade cracked for a moment as she ran a paw over her face and answered her son honestly, "Not especially well. I worry about her and what sort of life she is entering right now, but I know there is nothing to be done about it and I hate that thought."

"Plenty of that going on now at least," Mistoffelees said with a faint and strained smile before he sighed and rose. "I should sleep," he said. "As should you, probably. I'm sure there will be new things to face tomorrow."

Serafine nodded slightly, rising as well, "There always are. Do try to sleep well, my son." She was certain she wouldn't sleep without some sort of aid that night, but it was better to try than not.

"Good luck, mother," Mistoffelees replied, grasping the situation. "I shall see you in the morning."

Offering the young tom a flickering smile, Sera inclined her head, "I shall see you then. Good night, Mistoffelees." With those words, the lady of the house slipped out of the library and ascended the stairs to her room for a restless night filled with thoughts of her son and her niece and how little could be done for either of them.


	23. Possibly Consider Doing Otherwise

Several months went by, Mistoffelees spending most of it clandestinely in town with Coricopat or else campaigning for a seat in the House of Commons to please his uncle. Even when he was traveling though, he was able to keep up a correspondence with Coricopat in the guise of business letters. Occasionally he heard from Victoria, who was starting to settle into becoming the woman of a household, and sometimes he would even hear from Tumblebrutus from his own campaign trail. It seemed the patched tom was glad to be away from London if only to get some breathing room away from a certain newspaper editor.

Finally, Spring came back around, and the fashionable moved back into their townhouses for the season as Mistoffelees slipped away to the country. He timed his visit so it would be just after Jones left, but the house was still mostly open and the servants were all still in full attendance.

Coricopat arrived, as per Mistoffelees' request, some two days after the heir to the estate had returned to the country house and settled in. He had told his employer that he had been requested to travel out and assess some difficulties that the younger man was encountering. Bailey had permitted his absence and, as far as the mottle tom knew, believed the story.

The last several months had given the two lovers more time together than they had managed to find prior to it, but it still never felt like enough. It was nigh on impossible to ever feel fully alone, at his flat there was always the concern of a neighbor while Jones' townhouse had servants. Shaking his head, he knocked on the door to the country house. After a moment, it was opened by a rather severe looking butler. Letting the man know that he was expected, the solicitor soon found himself in the library where Mistoffelees was.

For a moment the black tom didn't respond to Coricopat, acknowledging his entrance and exchanging a few words with the butler without looking up from the letter he was finishing. As soon as the butler closed the door, Mistoffelees' head snapped up and a smile spread across his face. "You came," he said, even though it had been planned and a letter had arrived the day before.

Offering the other a bright, gentle smile, Coricopat moved over to where he was seated, "Of course I came. How could I possibly consider doing otherwise?"

"Well, there are plenty of reasons not to, complications," Mistoffelees said, eyes tracking the other and standing when Coricopat reached him, pulling the taller into a quick but deep kiss.

The mottled tom made a soft sound at that kiss, his arm slipping around Mistoffelees' waist as he drew back, "Neither hell nor high water could have kept me from coming when I told you I would. A few days away from the city with you before the season starts, I could hardly say no to that no matter what complications arose."

That got a small chuckle from the smaller tom. "I'm glad," he murmured, leaning against Coricopat for a moment before drawing back. "Come on, while the weather's still with us."

Coricopat blinked in confusion at that, "While the…Where are we going?"

"Somewhere outside," Mistoffelees said with a grin before leaving the library at a rapid walk, shouldering a hamper waiting already by the door as he found a coat and hat.

"You're enjoying being cryptic perhaps a tad too much," the mottled tom remarked, picking up his coat and hat as he passed them and following the other.

The smaller tom laughed, shaking his head slightly. "I am doing no such thing," he said, barely managing not to skip down the front stairs, walking through the rose garden out front and skidding around the fountain before heading for the top of a nearby hill.

"If you are doing nothing of the kind, then why am I still completely in the dark about where we are going?" The solicitor hurried to keep pace with the smaller tom, surprised at the other's chipper behavior.

"Well, the question is being cryptic the same as keeping the surprise," Mistoffelees returned, glancing at him over his shoulder and stopping at the top of the hill, pointing at the bottom. "There," he said, waving a paw over what had once been an old abbey, from the thirteenth century or so, long abandoned to the wind and elements.

Coricopat came to a stop next to him, his gaze sweeping over the ruins in the valley below, "There's something tragically exquisite in that scene." He glanced at the other, offering a smile, "Shall we go down then?"

"Into the tragedy?" Mistoffelees couldn't help but tease lightly, already moving down the slope. "This place was the one thing I enjoyed about breaks when I actually came home, or whenever I was forced out to the country house. I spent all my time here rather than getting to know my mother or cousin."

"When did you first come out to this old ruin?" Coricopat asked as he kept pace, finally reaching the base of the hill and nearly at what had once been the back wall of the abbey.

"When I first came here, when my father died, and the month before I got shipped off to board school," Mistoffelees said, leaving the hamper in the shade of one of the walls and taking Coricopat's paw. "Come on, the chapel ceiling is mostly still intact."

Coricopat squeezed the smaller tom's paw lightly, "Lead on. I've no idea where to even begin when looking at this place and I am entirely at your disposal."

For a while Mistoffelees basked in showing Coricopat around, pointing out all the features he had researched over the years, as well as comparing the ruin to others he'd seen in Ireland, France, and some in Italy. A few nooks got a more personal touch, of a particular village child he'd known or some other incident that had taken place there. He was clearly more attached to the ruins than his uncle's large country house.

Following the black tom through the abbey, Coricopat couldn't help but marvel at the way the ruins seemed to gain a new life with the passion Mistoffelees evidenced about them. He listened avidly, though much of his attention was on the way the other grew more animated in this setting than he had seen him before. After finishing a particular lecture about nave windows, Mistoffelees glanced back at Coricopat and paused, laughing. "Are you actually processing a word I'm saying?"

The taller tom offered him a bit of a grin, "Of course I am. You were explaining the logic behind the positioning and shape of the windows here just now. At the same time though, I can't help but appreciate the beauty this place seems to bring to those entering it."

For a moment Mistoffelees blinked at him before smiling faintly, stepping forward to kiss him again. He knew, in some ways, that was foolish as the ruins were as close to the village as Jones' estate, and that they were hardly safe or secure, but under the large expanse of sky with no doors between them and the rest of the world.

But frankly at the moment he couldn't care less, wanting to feel what it might be like to be free, as well as pouring his love of Coricopat and the ruin together for a moment.

Coricopat nearly pulled back at the kiss. He hadn't been expecting it, but found himself melting down into it. The thought of the open air and the distance to the nearest house didn't cross his mind, rather what sent his mind skittering away from the embrace for a moment was the sheer sacrilege he was pretty sure they were committing. It was one thing to kiss the other, to love the other, it was another to do it within the walls of a venerable abbey, and yet another to do it within the  _nave_  of said abbey.

Even as his mind flickered over those thoughts he pushed them aside and drew the other closer. There was something about the ruins that surpassed religion and felt almost ethereal, it was that quality of the place that Coricopat caught onto: the sense that everything here went deeper than history, deeper than location, deeper even than the two of them.

Finally, Mistoffelees drew back with a huff of breath and a faint smile. "I hadn't meant to do that," he murmured.

That earned a crooked smile, "Well I do rather hope you didn't  _plan_  to kiss me in the nave, all things considered."

The smaller tom blinked at him a moment before he laughed, stifling the sound when he realized they were rather still in the nave. "No, that wasn't part of the plan at all," he assured, before taking Coricopat's paw again. "Come on, I brought lunch. We'll eat it outside, alright?"

"I think that in the interests of not repeating our clandestine actions in the nave that may be the most intelligent course of action," he responded with a grin. Laughing again, though trying to keep the sound quiet, Mistoffelees led him back outside, scaring a couple songbirds away from the hamper before spreading out lunch.

v.v.v.v.

The new season started in London, which meant the houses were sitting once again. This year found Mistoffelees looking around the House of Commons with something akin to despair at actually being there, and a sheaf of notes on how he was supposed to behave and what to do. Looking around in the mess of people, he spotted Tumblebrutus and slid into a seat next to him. "Are you actually happy to be here?"

The patched tom glanced at his friend, offering him a ghost of a smile before his expression slipped back into the calculatedly blank one he'd been wearing, "The only thing I believe I am happy about at the moment is the fact that I'm not campaigning any longer at the moment. So, no, not especially. Yourself?"

"Can I go home yet?" Mistoffelees said, under his breath.

Tumble chuckled softly at that, "No. If I must suffer through this, so must you. Besides, your uncle's waiting at home."

"You're right," the black tom said, making a face. "That may be worse. I'll probably change my mind again in an hour, but there you have it." As the other members of the house greeted each other and either paid attention to the speaker or not as they felt, he glanced at Tumble. "How has your off season been, then?"

"Filled with campaigning. Trying to gain a seat from someone who has been here for a good deal of time is not the easiest thing in the world." The other tom shrugged, "Beyond that, it's been rather uneventful. I spent some of it in town, but much of it was spent out in the country honestly."

The smaller tom nodded, eyes still scanning the assembly as they talked. "I suppose there are benefits to a country life style."

"There can be, yes. It gets one away from the bustle of city life at the least, which I have to admit I appreciate. How was your off season?"

Mistoffelees wasn't sure for a moment whether to smile or wince. "It had its moments," he admitted, remembering Coricopat at the ruins. But there were also rallies and campaigning, and a constant stream of warnings and all but threats from his uncle to go along with the happier memories of an almost socially empty London.

"Perhaps we should meet for drinks later this week at one of the clubs and actually hear about one another's off seasons?" Tumble offered.

"Yes," Mistoffelees agreed with a nod. "By then I'm certain both of us will need both the escape from our households and most likely the alcohol as well." He paused a moment, looking around the room again. "Have you heard from that newspaper editor who was giving you such trouble?"

Tumble's ears flickered a bit at that, "N-no. Not really. As I said, I spent much of the last several months in the country and decidedly away from the city." He paused, his voice dropping, "How is your legal situation?"

"I am still receiving plenty of help in that arena," Mistoffelees replied, carefully keeping his expression neutral, as if he was just talking about a legal issue or lawyer, not informing his friend he was still with his illegal lover.

"That is good to hear. Your lawyer seems a tom of good character and discretion if I may say so," the other murmured, his brown eyes sweeping around the chambers.

"You may say so," Mistoffelees agreed, expression unguardedly happy for a moment. "I quite approve of him myself."

Tumble offered the other a smile at that, "I should certainly hope so, as you seem to have formed rather a mutually beneficial partnership. I wish you luck in your further endeavors."

"I'll need that in all of them," Mistoffelees said, scanning the room again as somecat finally rose to make what appeared to be an actually important speech. His friend nodded once, finally turning most of his attention to the cat who was attempting to make himself heard over the din.

Later that afternoon, Mistoffelees and Tumblebrutus exited the House of Commons. Tumble hesitated right outside of the building, considering the weather for a moment, "I think I might see about a bit of a walk before I hail a cab, it's rather a nice day after all. If you'll pardon my departing here?"

Mistoffelees waved him off, not unkindly but his mind was already bracing for dealing with his uncle and the family servants that evening. "I'm certain I shall see you again soon."

"I am certain you shall. Good day, Misto," Tumble tipped his hat to his friend and started in the direction of St. Paul's cathedral. He wasn't sure how much of a walk he felt like at the moment, and it would probably have been wiser to start toward Hyde Park, but he preferred the walk between Westminster Bridge and St. Paul's lacking in parks though it may be.

Several storefronts in front of his path, Tugger strode out into the spring air, arms loaded down with supplies, some food so Bombalurina wouldn't have his head, but much more paper and ink and things for the press. He'd been shopping all day. Tumblebrutus' gaze swept around the street, he'd almost missed the bustle of the city at different points over the off season, though the noise was more of a nuisance than he remembered. The patched tom paused when he spotted the taller cat coming out of the storefront ahead of him. Hesitating, he considered turning into the milliner's shop he was passing rather than meet Tugger at that moment.

Except Tugger had already clearly spotted him, stopping in the middle of the street and ignoring the shoppers walking past him, expression both wary and expectant. Drawing a deep breath, Tumble continued on his original path, tipping his hat when he finally reached the other, "Mister Hollister."

"Tumble," Tugger greeted. "Been several months since I last laid my eyes on you."

"I've been in the country. Kept myself busy. And how have you been?" If he could just keep the conversation to simple pleasantries he might make it through it without incident.

"Oh, you know, stirring up trouble and all sorts of annoyances for your class," Tugger said with a shrug, charismatic grin plastered on his face and ignoring the dirty looks several queens shot him on their way past. "I hear the country's nice. It made me sad though, you never coming to visit."

Tumble's ears flickered back at that, "I…Had to keep my campaign t-together. I didn't have much t-time to myself."

"A noble without time to himself?" Tugger asked, arching a brow. "Now I think I've heard everything. Can I write an editorial about it do you think?"

"No, you most certainly may not," came the indignant reply, Tumble's gaze darting up to the taller tom's face and then away.

"A drink to catch up then?" the taller tom offered.

"I-I really ought t-to be going home," disregarding the fact that he lived in the opposite direction that was a viable excuse, he hoped.

"Well, it doesn't have to be today," Tugger protested, giving him a long look.

Tumble hesitated, if he set up a later date to meet the other he could claim he forgot, but he never backed out on an agreement to see someone. "I-I could l-leave it for another h-hour or so. S-so long as I can catch a cab home, I s-suppose."

"Do I have to pay for it?" Tugger asked, arching a brow and considering the amount of purchases he had with him. "Because I'm honestly not all that sure I could afford rates where you're like to get a cab."

Considering for another moment, Tumble shook his head, "N-no. I-I don't mind a b-bit of a walk."

The larger tom arched a brow and nodded. "Well, if you have the time," he said. "And if you don't mind takin' at least one of these here bags?" he asked, carrying more than any cat should.

"I-I can take t-two or three if you l-like," the politician replied. He bit his lip, "Wh-what brings you h-here for shopping?"

"Well, most of it is just usual supplies and such," Tugger shrugged, handing him a sheaf of paper and some food. "But up here? Something to pacify Bombs."

"B-Bombs? You mean th-the actress?" He took the supplies, glancing up at the other, "S-so y-you're here buying s-something to p-pacify her?" If that was the case then he had no right to even entertain several of the ideas he had had regarding the other over the past year. Not that he should have been having them to begin with, but if Tugger Hollister had someone else he certainly couldn't risk interjecting himself into that.

"Yeah, we live together," Tugger nodded and paused. "You ever, I don't know, accidently damage a queen's clothing? Cos I really wanna know if it's a queen thing to just about tear the house down over that or a Bombs thing."

"N-no, I-I can't s-say I have. P-perhaps it would b-be better if I-I sought a c-cab for you a-and we w-went our o-own ways?" They  _lived_  together. It was very much time to put an end to this.

Tugger shrugged, the motion a smooth roll of his shoulders despite how much he was carrying. "Naw. Even if I need to make anything up to her, she won't be home for hours."

Tumble's eyes widened at that, and he tried to find a coherent thought amidst the anger, shame and horror that was welling up in him, "O-oh. W-well I suppose I-I, I c-could help y-you get this home a-at least."

Considering him for a moment, Tugger tilted his head. "Is somethin' the matter there?" he asked.

Swallowing, the smaller tom shook his head, "N-No. Nothing's the m-matter. S-so you'll h-have to l-lead the way."

The taller tom nodded, heading down the street and pausing. "Erm, did you want to call a cab the way over there then?"

Tumble glanced at him, "Where w-will we be going?"

"Well, home, probably," Tugger said. "First at least. Drop all this stuff off. If you don't mind, there's a fairly respectable pub nearby or… something. Whatever time you feel like having left."

"I-I meant is th-the cab n-needed?"

"Well," Tugger said, looking him over once. "I'm sure you do lots of riding and such out in the country side, but it's over in the East End and you might prefer a cab."

Tumble considered that, "I-if we s-start in that d-direction, I-I'll see about h-hailing a c-cab."

"Great," Tugger chirped, the sound almost odd coming from such a large built tom. "Turn left up there then and we can walk along the road." The smaller tom nodded, following the direction and flagging down a cab a few blocks further along their route.

Piling into the cab, Tugger set his various burdens down and whistled, the sound almost mocking, but more teasing. "So is this what living in the lap of luxury is like?"

Tumble's ears flickered back at that, "S-somewhat? D-did you t-tell the cabbie where he's to t-take us?"

The taller tom nodded. "Yeah, I think he knows the area well enough to get us there. So long as you don't mind being seen with me of course," he added, expression somewhat searching as he looked over the smaller tom.

Shaking his head quickly, Tumble answered, "N-no. I-if I did I-I hardly w-would have approached you on th-the street."

"Suppose that's true," Tugger said with an easy grin.

"S-so…you a-and Bombalurina l-live together?" this was none of his business and he well knew it.

"Yeah," Tugger shrugged. Part of him was aware that it was still shocking to tell other cats that he and an unattached queen lived together, but honestly he enjoyed the shock that he got, and Tumble's reactions were more than a little fascinating. "Have for some years now. I print, she acts, and we pay the rent."

Tumblebrutus' ears lay back at that even as he nodded, "I-I think I see. It s-seems a g-good arrangement. A-and the two o-of y-you get along c-closely th-then?"

Another shrug and Tugger nodded. "Yeah. We get along well. Not too many issues or clashes? I mean, so long as her clothing remains ink free, which means every few months I have to flee for the safety of elsewhere."

"Ah…" Tumble fell silent, turning his gaze to the window, watching the streets pass by.

For a moment Tugger just considered the other, before looking out the window as well, enjoying the view as it passed by, but soon enough the cab rolled to a stop and he started gathering up his bags and purchases, handling the one for Bomba with extra care. "Here we are then, my abode over the press."

Tumble hesitated for a long moment before gathering a couple of the packages, stepping out of the cab and paying the driver, sending him on his way. He looked toward the press and swallowed slightly, "S-shall w-we go up th-then?"

"If you don't mind," Tugger agreed, already heading for the door without waiting for an answer about whether Tumble really did want to go up or not. He thought if the other was going to have second thoughts, he already would have, but who really understood the minds of nobles?

The cabbie having left rapidly once he was dismissed, Tumble had little choice but to follow Tugger up the stairs to the flat above the press. He entered behind the taller cat, pausing inside the door, "R-rather c-cozy."

Tugger laughed. "Cozy? I suppose compared to your mansion or estate or something, sure."

Tumble set the packages he was carrying down, "Wh-what would y-you call it?"

"Cluttered, probably," the taller replied, looking back at him after setting everything down. Leaning against the table he crossed his ankles and his arms. "So why'd you come all the way out here anyway?"

"Y-you l-looked like y-you needed help c-carrying your p-parcels."

"Yeah, but," Tugger frowned at him slightly. "I don't know, you've never really acted like you like me all that much."

"H-haven't I?" He glanced away, "I-I don't  _d-dislike_  you…"

"Then what do you feel?" Tugger asked, tilting his head the other way. "Because I'm somewhat at a loss figuring out your head."

"F-feel? D-do I have t-to feel s-something to want t-to give you a p-paw?"

"No, but I think we've met enough to feel something or another for each other," Tugger said, pushing off the table and taking a step forward. "One way or another."

Swallowing at that motion, but not moving backward or forward, Tumble tried a half-shrug, "W-well, I-I might have s-some affinity f-for y-you?"

"Some affinity?" Tugger managed, confusion evident.

"Y-yes? I-I mean, I-I'm n-not averse t-to you."

That got a laugh out of Tugger. "Isn't that just the greatest compliment I've ever been given?"

Tumble's ears tilted back and he felt his cheeks flush, "I-I d-don't mean t-to be insulting."

Shaking his head, Tugger just grinned at him, taking another step forward, as if considering doing something very stupid, and something many had told him not to even consider, before stepping forward again, tilting his head down and paws coming up to take Tumble's chin. Before the other could register or protest, he swooped down, kissing the other tom lightly.

The smaller tom startled slightly at that, but leaned up into the kiss for a moment. It was at that point that his brain caught up with him and he took a full step back, away from the other tom, "W-we c-can't."

Tugger just blinked. Honestly, he'd expected to be slapped, punched, or otherwise assaulted, not simply informed they couldn't. "Well, legally, no," he agreed.

"L-legally, s-socially, m-morally," Tumble shook his head firmly. "Th-this w-won't w-work." Damn his stutter to hell. He needed it to clear up so he could actually speak at the moment, and instead it was growing worse.

Tugger just considered him a moment, shrugging and stepping back. "Sure. Legally, socially, morally. If one gave a same about society or morality, then yeah."

The smaller tom's jaw tensed, "I-I c-can hardly continue this, c-considering..."

"Considerin'?" Tugger asked, the sound wary but he wasn't quite willing to push anything yet.

"W-well, B-Bombalurina t-to start w-with."

"There's what?" Tugger blinked at him for a confused and annoyed moment before realizing what the other meant and torn between laughing and swearing. "You know, I'm pretty sure Bomba's poised on the edge of engagement to my older brother."

Tumble gaped at him, trying to get his mind around the removal of that hindrance, "Sh-she? B-but I th-thought..."

"No," Tugger said, suddenly sounding tired. "We live together. In separate bedrooms. She and I, we aren't. Well, whatever anycat thinks we are."

Trying to decide whether he was relieved by the new information or not, Tumble nodded very slightly, "I-I see. Th-that's...good."

"Good?" Tugger asked, stepping forward again, not quite leaning toward the other but only through sheer force of will. "I make her laugh, she keeps me sane. We go together, but not like that. Does that really remove some of your objections?"

The young noble nodded slightly, his tail curling around his right leg, "Y-yes s-some of them..."

Tugger reached out, a large paw on Tumble's hip, a finger moving out to flick at his tail. "And the others?"

Tumble startled slightly at that, but found himself stepping slightly nearer, "W-well, I-I just st-started in p-parliament."

"Politics? That doesn't matter," Tugger said and if either of his brothers had heard him, they might have died on the spot. As it was, a shiver probably ran down both their spines for no reason they could place. "Not like this. So long as you avoid the police or somecat that doesn't like you that is."

The smaller tom half considered retreating again, but shook his head at that thought, "I-I s-suppose..." Hesitating for another long moment, he leaned up, a paw moving to wrap around Tugger's neck and pull him down so that he could kiss him tentatively.

Surprised by that, Tugger tensed for a second before his other paw joined the one already on Tumble's hip, pulling him a bare bit closer. Tumble did his best to push away the protests his mind was concocting, instead leaning up into the kiss, moving a hair closer to the other tom. His free paw moved to tangle in the taller cat's thick mane.

Finally Tugger threw caution out the window, pulling Tumble entirely against him and holding on. The motion elicited a squeak from the other cat, but he didn't protest more than that, his tail uncurling enough to wrap around both their legs rather than just his own.

That surprised Tugger enough to draw back for a moment, and then he grinned, diving back in for another kiss. Tumble's breath caught, the paw behind Tugger's head moving down the other's back and around to rest on his waist. The smaller tom pressed further into the kiss, a weak purr starting in his throat.

Still grinning, Tugger finally drew back again, leaning his forehead on Tumble's for a moment. "You know, in numerous ways, I had not expected this."

Eyes wide, Tumble attempted to catch his breath, "R-really?"

"You're sorta prickly," Tugger replied, an easy grin still on his face. "I thought you hated me."

"I-I d-didn't know wh-what to m-make of you."

"What do you make of me now?" Tugger rumbled.

"I-I'm still n-not quite sure. B-but it's g-good things."

"Good things huh?" Tugger asked, smoothing some of the shorter's headfur back.

Tumble swallowed, leaning into the touch slightly, "Y-yes. I-I'm still n-not sure wh-what to make of you. And I-I'm still f-fairly sure this is a-all sorts of a bad idea, but I-I don't think I much c-care right now."

"So what do you care about now?"

"I'm n-not entirely sure, but I think I w-want to find out. I-I mean, I care about y-you. I just dont know wh-what to do about that."

"Not even right now?" Tugger asked, from where they were still standing close together.

"I-I..." Tumble swallowed, his gaze sweeping over Tugger's features, "I f-find myself out of m-my depth."

"Please tell me you aren't thinking that I have all that much experience here either," Tugger said.

"Th-that's not what I meant t-to imply."

Tugger chuckled, paw moving up to trace long Tumble's eye before dropping back down to his hip again. Tumble hesitated for another moment before leaning up to kiss the other again.

Just as Tugger leaned down for another kiss, the door slammed open. "I cannot believe-" Bomba was snarling and stopped dead in the middle of the room.

Tumblebrutus startled at that, taking a hasty step back, but stumbling and finding himself pulled up short when he forgot to uncoil his tail from around their legs first.

Tugger caught him, holding the shorter to him. "Hey, Bombs."

"Are you out of your damn mind?" she snapped.

The young noble's ears laced and he tensed in Tugger's embrace. Carefully detangling his tail from the other's leg he tried to step back, "P-perhaps I-I sh-should go?"

"Oh, feel free to stay," Bomba said, throwing her paws up. "I'm sure Tugger will find some other way to destroy his life even if you leave."

"I'm not-" Tugger started and stopped after her look.

Tumble drew back, wrapping his arms around himself and dropping his gaze, "I-I'll go. G-good d-day to y-you both."

Tugger made a sound of protest, paws reaching for him. "Wait a moment," he murmured. "Just hold on."

Tumble glanced between the two, his gaze lingering on Tugger; he didn't move toward the door any further, but he didn't shift toward the other tom either, "I-I..."

"Breath," Tugger said, finally stepping back and looking at Bomba. "Do you mind?"

"Mind what?" she asked, sweetly but with an edge. "Tugger, you should know better than this. Aren't you in enough trouble in general anyway? Not to mention the time you went to your  _brother_  about an  _editorial_  about laws on sodomy. Your brother who's a cop! We've been worried for months, and apparently with damn good reason!" by the end her voice had risen and Tugger winced.

"I'l be careful," he muttered.

"You wouldn't know how," she snapped in return.

The small politician drew a deep breath, trying to calm his startled mind, speaking clearly and carefully for the first time since he'd left the House of Commons earlier that day, "But I do."

Bomba stopped and turned abruptly to him. "Come again?"

"I know how to be careful," he enunciated, making sure each letter sounded only once. "I come from a class where caution and secrecy are the only way to survive, socially at least, past the age of seven."

Tugger and Bomba exchanged a look before Bomba turned back to the patched tom, nodding shortly. "Fine. But I will tell you this once," she said, taking a step forward and jabbing his chest. "If you throw him to the dogs, or otherwise hurt him? Hell will not know a fury like mine."

Tumble took an abrupt step backward at that contact, nodding briskly, "I-I understand."

"Good," she said, eyes doing to the dropped bags from earlier, sweeping several up on her way out the room.

Once she was gone, Tugger let out a shaky laugh. "And people think I'm sleeping with  _tha_ t whirlwind?"

"I-I th-think you m-might have k-killed each other b-before this if th-that was the case."

"To say the least," Tugger agreed, nodding his head somewhat shakily.

"W-we'll be able to m-make this work."

"You really want to?" Tugger asked, voice low.

Tumble nodded once, his gaze still not on the other, "I d-do."

"Alright," Tugger said softly, stepping forward and brushing a paw across Tumble's cheek. "Then we'll figure something out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your note, from Victoriousscarf: So, we time skipped a little to get this story back on track. Partly because we needed to move the plot along, but also because most of my knowledge of English political campaigns comes from Churchill biographies and with so much else to research... The scene with Misto and Cori in the ruins is one that frankly I've wanted to write since we started the entire story, and sans lunch and kissing in the nave, was a scene inspired by being in Ireland and exploring some of these old ruins myself. Misto pretty much got my adoration of old ruins and it suits his character.


	24. A Somewhere Else Really Needs Me

Munkustrap was waiting outside the backstage door after one of Bombalurina's matinee performances, a bouquet of flowers in his paw. He had been arguing with himself for the better part of a fortnight about the best time and place for what he was thinking of. Having finally reached a partial conclusion, he had attended that afternoon's performance with the intention of escorting her home.

She came out a while later, blinking at him. "Munkustrap," she greeted, voice warm.

The silver tabby offered her a smile, holding out the bouquet, "For you, my dear. You were wonderful, Bombalurina."

For a moment she blinked at the flowers, before accepting them and pulling them close to her chest. "Thank you," she murmured. "What brings you out here today?"

"I had the day off and wished to see you, and speak with you about some things." He offered her his arm, "May I walk you home?"

"If you would like," she replied, smiling at him and trying not to think about Tugger for the moment.

He returned the smile and, once she'd taken his arm, started toward the flat she and Tugger shared. "How have you been of late?"

"Decent," she said with an incline of her head. "How has life been treating you?"

"Well enough I suppose. Nothing too pressing all told."

"Well," she paused and sighed. "I suppose that's good."

His brow rose slightly at that, "It can be, yes. Is something the matter?"

"No," she said, shaking her head and fluffed her hair with her free paw a moment. "I am just strung out from plays and too much to do."

Munkustrap nodded faintly, considering. They had reached a place away from most other passersby, though a couple of cats wandered past now and again. Pausing, the tabby turned to her, "Bomba?"

"Yes?" she asked, stopping and looking up at him as well.

"I...I had a whole speech at least mostly planned out, but it doesn't seem all that suiting. I suppose what I'm trying to...that is." He drew a breath, "Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

For a moment she just blinked rapidly at him in shock. "The... you..."

His ears flickered slightly, "I mean...we've been seeing one another for some time now, and if I've overstepped in my assumption I beg your pardon."

"No, that is," she shook her head, trying to clear it, "That is. It's just unexpected."

"I supposed it might be a bit," he replied, ears still tilted back uncertainly.

"Are you sure you know what you'd even be getting yourself into?" she asked, voice soft.

"I think I do, but you seem to think I don't. Would you like to explain that doubt?" He answered quietly.

"I'm an actress," she said. "From what could best be described as the slums. I wouldn't know what to do with society if it hit me over the head."

"And I'm a detective, and that only relatively recently. I'm hardly dealing with society on a frequent basis."

"It's still different classes," she returned. "You'd be looked down for it."

"I don't care," he replied, one paw coming up to brush a lock of her hair back.

"Others will," she repeated. "I'm just worried you'll live to regret it."

"I know what others will think, and I honestly don't think I could regret this decision."

"We might not live together very well," she said softly. "I'll drive you crazy."

His ears lay back, "If you want out of this, just say no then."

"That's not it," she said, quickly. "I just... I don't think you've thought this through entirely. I care very deeply about you, and I do not want to mess this up."

"Bomba. I've thought through this for quite some time, and focused on thinking through it for the last two weeks. You can ask Tugger if you don't believe I look at as many eventualities as I can think of before making a decision like this. But if you don't think we can make this work, let me know now. Honestly. Not that you fear we might not make it work, but that we can't."

Looking into his eyes, she felt herself shake slightly. "It... I don't think we can't," she said finally. "It'll be hard some days. It'd take a lot of work."

"Anything worth having is worth working for." Munkustrap shook his head slightly, his paw moving to cup her cheek, blue eyes never leaving her, "Yes it will be hard but I would rather take the risk of difficulties that between us I believe we can overcome, than to not do so and spend the rest of my life wondering if I made the worst mistake of my life letting you go."

She let out a long breath, carefully not moving into or away from the touch. "If you're sure..." she managed finally.

He nodded, his thumb tracing over her cheekbone, "I've not been this certain of something for a very long time."

"Alright," she said, offering him a faint smile. "I'll marry you."

v.v.v.v

Entering the living room, Alonzo looked around and blinked before realizing. "Oh. Tonight's the night your brothers are coming, isn't it?"

Munkustrap looked up from where he was moving some books off of one of the end tables rather than have them possibly used as projectiles. They had a rule about not fighting on that day, but it didn't mean he wasn't going to watch out for that eventuality, "Yes, that's tonight."

Alonzo sighed. "So I should probably find an elsewhere to be."

"Probably, though you're welcome to stay if you like."

"No, I do feel as if there is a somewhere else that really needs me right now," Alonzo said, shaking his head slightly.

Munkustrap chuckled, moving the fire poker and small coal shovel away from the couch and nearer the chair he was planning on using that night, "Might be a good idea. Though there's always a ceasefire today."

"I am not sticking around for the one time the cease fire goes out," Alonzo said, shaking his head.

That earned another quiet laugh, "Oh, Alonzo, I've been meaning to ask you...if I was to leave within the next few months, do you think you'd be able to pay the rent or do you have someone else you'd be able to split it with?"

That got the black and white tom to stop short. "Huh?"

"I," he offered his flatmate a slightly sheepish smile, "I'm engaged. Which means sometime in the not too distant future I'll be finding somewhere to live with my wife."

Alonzo gaped at him a moment. "And when was I going to hear about this? Alright, I'm hearing about it now, but for how long?"

"It just happened a couple of days ago."

"Well that makes me feel a bit better," Alonzo remarked.

"Tugger probably knows, but Mac hasn't even heard yet, if that's any consolation."

"So, that will be exciting tonight then?" Alonzo asked, arching his brow.

"Oh thrilling. Think I could skip out and just let them meet?"

"I think that would cause some problems, not to mention the fact since it's at your house Macavity might be stubborn enough to sit here waiting for you and I do not think you are quite that ready to move out yet."

Munkustrap sighed a bit at that, "I suppose that's true. Well, wish me luck then."

"I wish you luck," the black and white tom deadpanned.

The other shook his head, "They should be here in the next half hour or so, if you're planning to leave before they arrive."

"I'm gone," Alonzo said, moving quickly to find a coat.

The silver tabby laughed quietly, double-checking that the room was clear of most possible weapons.

A while later there was a knock on the door, Macavity leaning against the frame with two bottles of whiskey.

Munkustrap answered the door, offering his elder brother a bit of a smile, "You're early, Mac. Come on in."

"Early only by our other brother's standards," Mac replied.

"I suppose that's quite true," the silver tabby admitted, going to fetch three glasses. "Make yourself comfortable."

Glancing around the room, Macavity chuckled. "I see things moved."

"You mean like the fireplace poker?" Munkus grinned, "Yes, they rather did. I didn't want to risk anything this year."

The taller tabby rolled his eyes, plopping down on the couch. His younger brother moved over to the chair across from the couch, "How have you been, Mac?"

For a moment the older brother didn't reply before shrugging. "This and that," he said, voice neutral. "Work has been harder of late."

Munkustrap's brows rose at that, "Harder? In comparison to the other land sales and marriage contracts you deal with on a daily basis?"

"Pushier clients," he replied. Really, it had been putting through the marriage contract for a certain white queen several months ago that made him feel listless and useless at his job. The days felt longer and drearier.

"That would certainly add to it, I'm sure," Munkustrap nodded, his ears tilting toward the door.

"If you're waiting for Tugger, it's gonna be a while yet," Macavity shrugged. "Anything exciting in your life?"

"Well," he smiled slightly, "I've asked a charming queen to marry me. We'll likely be married in the next few months."

Macavity was suddenly glad he'd put the bottles down earlier. "Where'd you find one of those?"

"At...Actually you may know her. It's Tugger's flatmate, Bombalurina Harris."

"Has anyone told Tugger?" Macavity asked, trying to process. "You're marrying an actress?"

"She may have, I haven't seen him yet. And yes, I am," something shifted in his tone at the second question, turning guarded.

Macavity rolled his shoulders. "Don't let it be for me to judge."

"She's a wonderful queen, regardless of her occupation," Munkustrap murmured.

"Always seemed charming enough. I just never thought her your kind is all," he said with another shrug.

"If you'd asked me I would have said the same. Having gotten to know her and seen her for the last year that opinion has changed."

"It's been that long?" Macavity asked in some surprise.

"Just under I believe. But it was last spring when I met her," the younger tabby nodded, absently running his paw over the upholstery of the chair.

"It's fine, 'Straps, really, I'm happy for you," Macavity said, but there was a shadow to his tone. "Just surprised it was that long is all."

Munkustrap looked his older brother over, "Everything alright, Mac?"

"It's fine," he said with a firm nod as another knock came.

The silver tabby eyed him skeptically, but rose and answered the door, "Hello, Tugger. You're a bit late again."

"Yeah, well," Tugger huffed. "You'd have to excuse me for dealing with your fiancé."

That earned a faint grin, "That I can probably forgive." Stepping aside, Munkus motioned the youngest brother inside.

Tugger stomped inside, rolling his eyes. "I would hope so."

Closing the door, the tabby followed Tugger over, "How have you been, Tug?"

The larger cat shrugged. "Not bad," he said, trying not to think too much about Tumble or any of his latest arguments with Bomba over said noble or her own sudden engagement as they worked on figuring out what belonged to who and why.

Munkustrap nodded very slightly, "Good to hear." He settled into his chair again, "Well, we're all here finally."

"Sure," Tugger said, looking around. "I assume Mac brought the alcohol?"

Rolling his eyes, Macavity waved a paw toward the two bottles.

Munkustrap shook his head, "Does he ever forget to do so?"

"Could be a first time for everything," Tugger said, going to fetch them. "Especially considering how mopey he's been. Two bottles? Is one all for you?"

"No, but I did actually want an equal share this year," the red tabby returned.

"After you drank most of the bottle last year, we do want more than  _a_  glass this year, Tugger," the middle brother supplied, though his gaze moved concernedly to his elder sibling.

Tugger muttered something before coming over and setting the bottles down between them, pouring the first round of glasses. "I recall Mac having more than that."

"Not the point, little one," Mac replied.

"I'm taller than you," Tugger shot back, handing him a glass.

"You still drank the majority, and you're always our kit brother, Tug," Munkustrap responded, taking the third glass.

"Can I not be?" he protested before lifting a glass. "To our father then. May he never come back to haunt us."

Munkustrap raised his glass as well, his words holding a double-edged meaning, "To him, may we always remember who he was, though others forget."

For a long moment Macavity considered his glass, unsure what he could possibly say he hadn't in years before. "To him," he said finally. "For not staying."

Nodding once, Munkustrap settled back a bit in his chair and sipped at his drink, "Thank God."

Leaning back, Tugger knocked back the drink he held. "So, 'Straps. I like how you had Bomba tell me the news."

"Oh shush, I didn't hear it until three minutes ago," Mac said.

"I was going to tell you when next I saw you, Tugger. Which was going to be today," the silver tabby replied. "And it's closer to fifteen, Mac."

Macavity shrugged, brushing it off as Tugger shook his head. "You could have come in you know. That day. Mentioned it then."

"I could have, yes. Perhaps I should have," he shrugged. "I didn't though, so I think the point is rather moot."

Tugger scowled at him. Munkustrap sighed softly, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you myself, Tugger. I should have, I just thought you'd hear it better from her."

"You're my brother," Tugger returned.

Munkus' ears tilted back at that, "I know. I should have come to you myself."

"But you didn't."

"Does it bother you that much?" Macavity asked from where he was nursing a drink.

The middle brother glanced at Tugger for an answer to that question.

"Frankly, yes," he replied. "We're supposed to be family. I like the idea of Bomba becoming a part of this family, she has been mine for a long while now, but the very fact you ignored this? Yeah, it bothers me."

Dropping his gaze, Munkustrap nodded slightly, "Fair enough. I am sorry, Tugger."

Shrugging, the larger tom knocked back another glass. "That is why I brought two bottles," Macavity remarked.

v.v.v.v

Coricopat looked over the file and papers spread out over his desk, frowning at them for a long moment. He'd been dealing with the Smiths' business contracts for a year now, but this one set up a couple of warning signs of the sort that might need some damage control run. Unfortunately, Bailey, the man he would normally warn of this eventuality wasn't currently in his office and Lord only knew when he would return.

It was later in the morning when Bailey finally appeared at the door, and he looked like he was nursing some kind of a head ache.

His employee looked up, gathering the offending pieces of paper and rising, "Sir?"

"You're still doing business for Jones' heir, correct?" Bailey demanded, voice quick.

The mottled tom blinked once, but nodded quickly, "Yes, Sir, I am."

"Good," he replied with a nod, considering. "Then you should probably be aware that you will have to work on his engagement."

"His engagement," Coricopat's tone was flat, his expression unreadable even as he could feel his carefully rebuilt emotions tumbling to pieces. His walls, so painfully familiar, go up quickly. "May I ask who the other party is?"

"I believe an Etecetera Hawthorne," Bailey said with a shrug. "His uncle mentioned the arrangement last night."

Coricopat inclined his head, "Very well, I shall see to it. I take that to mean I shall be seeing to the Baron's interests again for the time being?"

"For the time being," Bailey agreed with a nod. "Try not to put anyone off this time."

"I shall do my best, sir. Now, if you have a moment I wanted to discuss Lord Smith's holdings in Southampton." He would treat this as a normal day even if it killed him.

Blinking once, Bailey tried not to snap a reply about curling up and nursing his head, nodding instead. "Alright. What about Lord Smith?"

"I wanted to give you fair warning that he may not be happy with the results of the latest contract he signed. I was planning to go down to Southampton and see what could be done about it myself, but as it appears now he stands to lose a goodly amount in this business deal."

"Can you deal with it?" his employer demanded.

"Of course, sir. I just wished to give you fair warning if he comes to you that I am in fact seeing to it."

"Good," Bailey nodded. "Stay on top of those things and we might actually stay afloat." Coricopat nodded once before he returned to his desk.


	25. Even Then Felt Like He Was Lying

The note arrived at the same time that Mistoffelees returned from the House of Commons, and he frowned at how abrupt the request to meet came across, and headed right for Coricopat's flat.

Coricopat had arrived home shortly before Mistoffelees was likely to, and could barely stay still long enough to set his briefcase down and shrug out of his coat. He moved quickly and sharply through the flat, seeing if he could find anything in the small kitchen.

Knocking on the door, Mistoffelees frowned at the wood. The door opened after a brief moment, the mottled tom breathing a soft sigh, "Thank you for coming."

"Of course I'd come," Mistoffelees said, not having even changed since getting out of the House. Stepping inside, he closed the door and leaned up to kiss Coricopat.

Coricopat locked the door as he returned the kiss distractedly, "Still." He hesitated, "Have you spoken to your uncle today at all?"

"No, not in the last several. Now that I've fulfilled his demands, and am elected, he could care less about me," the black tom replied, frowning at the lackluster kiss.

His lover's ears tilted back slightly at that, curling his paw with the other's, "I wouldn't be so quick to write that off."

"Cor, what's the problem?" Mistoffelees asked, one of his own ears tilting sideways.

"I..." He drew a deep breath, "Bailey came to me today. Asked me if I was still working with you." Swallowing he finally said it, "I'm to handle the legal side of your engagement."

Mistoffelees took a step back as if burned. "My  _what_?"

Coricopat turned away to his briefcase, locating the initial paperwork he was drafting, "Your betrothal to Miss Hawthorne."

Snatching the paperwork, Mistoffelees looked it over quickly. "She's the daughter of a Count," he murmured. "I've never met her for more than one dance at a party. This is insanity."

"I certainly won't argue with you about that." He paused for a moment before placing a paw on the other's shoulder, holding his free paw out for the paperwork.

The smaller tom had frozen in shock, finally looking back up at the paw on his shoulder. "But, I..."

"I'm sorry."

"You're sorry," Mistoffelees repeated. "My uncle has my lawyers drawing up paperwork for an engagement he failed to inform me of. When was I going to find out? At the alter?

Coricopat shook his head, "He would have had to tell you that sooner. But I wish I hadn't been the one to have to bring this news to you."

"I can't tell if hearing it from you is better or worse," Mistoffelees said faintly.

"Come, sit down?" the solicitor sighed softly.

"I don't want to sit down," Mistoffelees replied, aware he was being foolish and petulant.

Coricopat's ears tilted back slightly at that, not entirely sure how to respond, "It's possible something could go wrong before the papers have all been signed. It has happened in the past."

"It's possible, but unlikely," Mistoffelees replied, finally handing Coricopat back the papers.

Sighing again, the mottled tom returned the papers to his briefcase, "I wish there was something I can do."

"Burning the papers wouldn't help, would it?" Mistoffelees managed.

"Not if we intend to keep up the ability to meet under the pretense of me working for you..."

"God," he managed, running a paw over his mouth.

Coricopat's ears lowered further, "That's about right."

"So I'm engaged then?" Mistoffelees asked, meeting his eyes.

"Almost," the other murmured. "It's been discussed apparently, and the papers reached my desk this morning, so in all but the most technical legal ways yes you are."

"You'd think I'd hear about that before my lawyer," he murmured, and paused before reaching a paw out, wrapping it around Coricopat's waist and trying not to just cling.

The mottled tom hesitated, but drew the other close, wrapping his arms around him and just holding him, "We always knew this was a possibility."

"Knowing and being are different," he said. "And I hoped... I don't know what I hoped."

"I know. I...this will change things, but somehow we'll find our way through it."

"We always do," Mistoffelees agreed. "We have, at any rate."

One of Coricopat's paws moved to stroke the other's cheek before he leaned down to kiss him tenderly, longingly. Tilting up into the kiss, Mistoffelees' tail flickered out to curl around Coricopat's leg.

The mottled tom leaned down further into the kiss, the paw at Mistoffelees' waist moving to trace up his spine.

v.v.v.v

The next morning, Mistoffelees paused outside his mother's boudoir. He'd spent the night with Coricopat, throwing caution to the wind for just that moment. Especially considering how much harder everything was going to become. After another moment, he knocked.

Serafine looked up from the embroidery she was working on, having risen early and taken her breakfast in her boudoir. She knew her brother would have no cause to come to her, and the servants left her be unless called, which meant it was her son who she was certain had not come home the previous night. "Come in, Mistoffelees."

Opening the door, he arched a brow. "Did you decide it was me from process of elimination?"

She smiled almost bitterly, "The only other cat in this house who ever came to see me without being called or pounding fit to knock the door down was Victoria and she has not been here for nearly a year."

"I suppose that is true," Mistoffelees murmured, looking around. "Have you been enjoying your morning?"

"It has been rather a quiet morning thus far. And you? Have you been enjoying your morning?"

He remembered waking up entangled around Coricopat and nodded. "It has had its moments."

"I am glad to hear it. And your evening?"

"It... also had its moments," he said after a pause. "Have you spoken to my uncle at all lately?"

She shook her head, "No. I have once again been avoiding my brother. Why do you ask?"

"I was given news, yesterday," he said and paused. "My lawyer contacted me."

Serafine considered him warily, "The lawyer who works at the firm your uncle uses, correct?"

"Yes, he worked with me over the summer as well," he said and paused again.

"And what did he tell you?"

"That he was told by his employer to start the paperwork for my engagement to Miss Hawthorne."

Serafine Quaxo froze at that, "He said  _what_?"

"He also showed me the paperwork," Mistoffelees said, voice still soft. "I don't... I had no one else to talk to about this."

The elder queen looked at her son for a long moment, her tail twitching even as her expression remained placid, "Thank you for coming to me. I'm here to listen when you need me to."

"Thank you," he said, voice soft. "Though I'm not sure what to talk about. It seems... I do not know. Perhaps it would be a good match, but it is sudden and forced and he did not even come to me but the lawyers heard of it before I did."  _My lover heard of it before I did,_ he didn't add.

She dropped her gaze to the tapestry in the embroidery frame, "I do not know that it would be a good match. A beneficial one, certainly, but do you know the young queen in question?"

"No," he replied.

"Well," she sighed, "the Hawthornes are at least known for being kinder than many of our set, and their daughters are sweet enough I suppose."

"Sweet enough does not seem a sterling recommendation," Mistoffelees shook his head.

"Well, I cannot recall ever having met the girls themselves. Their mother is a kind queen though, and their father open-hearted."

He nodded, taking a deep breath. "The in laws sound better than my own uncle. But I hardly wish to marry a queen for such a reason as that."

"I know, Mistoffelees. It is small consolation." She shook her head, every line in her body tense, "My hope is that you can grow to care for her, but it would have been wiser for him to have you meet her at the very least."

"I would have liked that," he agreed softly.

"We shall have to see to a time for you to meet her if this is truly to happen."

"Please," he murmured.

Serafine inclined her head, "May I ask where you were last night?"

The black tom tried not to obviously tense, taking a breath. "Last night?"

His mother nodded, "Yes, you were gone all night I believe?"

"Yes," he admitted finally. "I was. I... did not want to come home."

"I can understand that," Sera nodded slightly. "Where did you find yourself?"

"I occupied the guest room of a friend," he returned.

"I see. Are you going to be alright should we have to dine with your uncle this evening?"

"I will find some way," he murmured, glancing down.

"I will be there as well if you choose to dine with him," she offered quietly.

"Thank you," he inclined his head. "For... everything and anything you have done for me."

Serafine smiled softly, "Always, my dear son."

"Thank you, Mother," he repeated, unused to having a mother.

Serafine rose, "If you don't mind, I have a couple of things I need to see to today."

Mistoffelees smiled and nodded. "Thank you for taking the time. I shall allow you to return to your day."

"Good day, Mistoffelees. Close the door as you leave, please," the trust was implicit in leaving him in her private chambers.

His eyes widened. "Of, of course mother."

Serafine offered him another smile before slipping out, her expression hardening and her spine going stiff as she swept down the stairs to her brother's office. She knocked cursorily on the door, just to alert him to her presence, before continuing her way into the study. Her tail was still, her ears in a neutral position, but her paws shook with restrained anger.

Jones looked up in surprise. He looked very much like he'd spend all night drinking and was not pleased with being disturbed. "What is it?"

"When were you intending to inform me of your decision to betroth my son?"

The baron blinked. "Where did you hear that?"

"From my  _son_."

Jones blinked once. "Dare I ask where he heard before the official announcement?"

"The lawyer who needed his signature for the initial papers," She lied icily. "Where do you get the right to use him as a pawn and not even let him know that you are?"

"I have not seen him," Jones shrugged. "I wanted to make sure the lawyers were aware."

"How dare you do this in the first place! He is  _not_  your political pawn. He is my son."

"He is my heir," Jones said with a small shrug of his fat shoulders.

"I kept quiet when you bargained your daughter off, that was your prerogative, but Mistoffelees is not yours to command and control. He is his own tom, and I'll see you damned before you hurt him further," his sister spoke coldly, but there was venom laced in her tone.

"Hurt him?" Jones asked, as if surprised at the very idea. "I am giving him everything. Is it so much to ask for some cooperation and honor to the family? I can hardly have him running off and marrying whoever he wants like you. I must have him tucked away before then."

"He is too solidly entrenched in this society to marry  _beneath_  him. And you keep Orion out of this," she snapped. "He has bowed before your wish for him to enter Parliament before he felt he was ready, this however does nothing. There is no honor to the family to be had in this, only a higher payment to line your pockets with and buy you brandy." Serafine knew she was crossing lines, but by God she had long bottled up her feelings regarding her brother and couldn't seem to stop at the moment. It was disorienting to her, usually able to keep even her most violent tempers in check, to find herself losing rein of her tongue.

Jones snarled. "He is my heir. He will bring money and honor to this family. If you have difficulty with that, I believe the country is lovely this time of year."

Serafine drew herself together, her chin coming up, "To send me away at the same time as you betroth my son will do no favor to your  _honor_ , Bustopher. In fact all it will do is bring scorn to you. He is already brining honor to your family. You have not even given him time to acquaint himself with Parliament and you send him to marry someone he does not even know."

"The official announcement has not been released yet," Jones said with a shrug. "It will balance itself out. The people prefer representatives who are married."

"The people had no difficulty electing unmarried toms this time."

"But the time after that?" Jones shrugged.

"Is still a distance out," her ears finally lay back.

"Better to be prepared than sorry."

Her jaw tensed, "And when did you plan to introduce him to his fiancée?"

"There shall be a ball in three days' time," Jones said. "They can meet there, and the announcement can be made. In a month I believe we shall throw our own ball for the sake of their engagement."

Sera drew a deep breath and nodded once, trying not to snarl, "Very well. Good day then,  _brother_."

"Good day," Jones returned, coldly. Serafine kept her back stiff as she swept from the room, waiting until she had closed the door to let her posture slump at all.

v.v.v.v

Macavity waited on the curb for Coricopat. "Think you'll be able to handle this?"

The mottled tom shook his head slightly, "I don't have much of a choice, now do I? But I can hardly not go."

"I'm sure you could make some sort of an excuse," the red tabby shrugged.

"And risk offending Jones? I'm not that foolish, Mac," Coricopat sighed. "Best to get this over with I suppose."

"It's a long night to get over with," Macavity said, trying to smooth down his headfur with one paw.

"Yes, it rather is, but not insurmountable," his friend murmured, hoping he sounded more certain than he was.

Personally Macavity looked less than certain. "Let's go then." Coricopat nodded, hailing a cab and holding the door for his friend.

Macavity remained silent the ride over, still compulsively trying to smooth his head fur. It had gotten longer, and a bit more unmanageable the last year, but he hadn't minded before. Coricopat glanced at his friend as they arrived, "You look fine, Mac. Though you should have had that fur trimmed weeks ago."

Macavity shrugged. "Can't change that now," he muttered.

"It's fine, Macavity. We'd best go inside."

Nodding, the lawyer slipped from the cab, heading for the ball doors. No part of him really wanted to be there, but when did what somecat want matter?

Coricopat paid the cabbie and followed his friend, falling into step not far from the door. His preference would have been to leave then and there, but having responded that he would be attending he could hardly depart before even entering the building.

Inside, the ball was going along at a decent pace. Mistoffelees looked like he would rather be anywhere else, and like he might break if one more person congratulated him.

Victoria had arrived on her husband's arm fashionably late, but still within the realm of courtesy. She had managed to slip away from Plato and wove her way through the ball to her cousin's side, even as her gaze was drawn to the entrance of the room as the two solicitors entered.

Mistoffelees' eyes had gone there too, and he couldn't tell if he was relieved to see them or if his stomach was twisting with fear and anger. His cousin stepped up beside him, her gaze still on the door, "Mistoffelees."

"Victoria," he said, not turning to look at her. "How does tonight find you?"

"The same as last night found me and as tomorrow night shall as well I expect," she murmured in response.

"That good?" he titled his head toward her.

Victoria's smile was one that held promise of turning one day into the bitter ones her aunt bore much of the time, "At least that good."

"Well that's something," he said, looking across the room where he could see Plato talking with his uncle and tried not to scowl. "Did... did you at least enjoy the honeymoon trip?"

"I enjoyed parts of it."

"You'd said you wanted to travel," Mistoffelees mused. "At least you finally got the chance."

"I suppose that is true," Victoria murmured. "How do you like Parliament?"

He managed not to laugh. "It's... different," he managed. "Less civilized."

That earned a ghost of a smile, "Less civilized than what, cousin?"

"Well... I would usually say things like that but I'm not sure that applies anymore," he said, actually smiling genuinely for the first time in a while.

Victoria slipped an arm through his, "Well, nevertheless it is less civilized than something."

"Certainly," he agreed. "More honest though. I can't decide which I prefer anymore."

"Perhaps honesty is the more honorable recourse, even if it is not always civilized?" She offered.

"I'm starting to adjust to it," he said, eyes settling on Coricopat from across the room again.

"Should you go greet them?" Victoria asked, her gaze following his.

"Maybe," he murmured. Except everything in him was all but straining toward the mottled tom and he felt if they touched it would be far too obvious. A paw shake would let the whole room in on their secret.

She looked at her cousin for a long moment, wishing to speak to the red tabby but unwilling to approach him on her own for fear of what Plato would do or say in such an instance.

"Would," he swallowed. "Would you like to go over?"

"I..." She glanced at him, "If you are not comfortable with it, I can refrain."

"I'll manage. You'll need the excuse for Plato later," Mistoffelees said, steering her over.

She offered him a grateful smile and murmured thanks as they approached the two solicitors.

Macavity smoothed is headfur down again, offering the pair a strained smile. Victoria inclined her head, "Mr. Hollister. Mr...Zimmerman I believe?"

Coricopat nodded, "Yes, kind of you to remember, milady."

"Mrs... Philipson," Macavity murmured. "I'm sorry, it is odd to think of you with an entirely different name."

She offered him a smile that was only slightly strained, "It has been nigh on a year and I must admit that it is still strange for me as well, sir."

"Surely not that long," he murmured. ((Probably more like 7-8 months. Since this is the start of spring and they got married in August. Well, probably the early middle of spring))

"No, perhaps not quite that long," the white queen admitted softly. "But over six months."

"Yes," Macavity said, wishing suddenly to have a real conversation and not niceties. "Are you settling in then?"

Mistoffelees looked from Victoria to Macavity to Coricopat, swallowing. "Mr Zimmerman," he greeted quietly.

"I am settling in as well as I can," Victoria answered, wishing for a more private conversation, away from prying eyes and ears.

"Mr. Quaxo," Coricopat's gaze moved from the other two, to meet Mistoffelees' eyes. His masks were more firmly and forcibly in place than they had been in many a long month.

"Thank you for coming," Mistoffelees said, and he should be glad Coricopat had so many masks, but instead it only hurt and felt odd, considering the last time he'd seen the mottled tom had involved lying tangled together for the amount of time they'd had.

"I'm glad," Macavity replied.

"I would hardly have turned down the invitation," the mottled tom murmured, his grey eyes holding the unspoken "to be here for you".

Victoria offered a faint smile, "And how have you been, Mr. Hollister?"

Mistoffelees dropped his eyes, looking back over at the ballroom, trying not to think about the fact his betrothed was across the room. "Thank you."

Macavity rolled his shoulders. "I can't complain much," he managed after a moment or two.

Coricopat sighed very softly, his mask cracking, "The papers are going through smoothly."

Victoria considered the red tabby and then nodded, "So not so well as it could be?" Her gaze moved to the dance floor.

"Just what I wanted to hear," Mistoffelees said with a strained smile.

The red tabby's eyes followed Victoria's to the dance floor. "Would, would you prefer to be dancing?"

Victoria glanced up at Macavity, murmuring her response, "There is more privacy on a dance floor than anywhere else in a ball."

Coricopat inclined his head, pain reflected momentarily in his grey eyes, "Has the date been set yet?"

Holding a paw out, Macavity led her to the dance floor and Mistoffelees bit his lip. "Not yet. It might be held off until next season."

"What do you think of the young lady?" the mottled tom asked softly.

"She," Mistoffelees took a breath. "She's as sweet as anycat here could be, and I'm sure she's perfectly nice. But I don't, I don't want to marry her."

"Does she want to marry you?" came the next question.

"I can't tell," he admitted, watching the dancers. "It's hard to figure out what anyone actually wants..."

"All of us wear masks and facades, and all it does in the end is damage those around us."

The black tom glanced up at him, offering him a faint smile. "Yes." He wanted nothing more than to lean against the other, or drop at least one mask but knew better.

"Are you free later this week?" Coricopat glanced at him, keeping his paws at his sides rather than reaching out to brush over the other's headfur to smooth a lock down.

"I'm sure something can be arranged," Mistoffelees said quietly, not looking at the mottled tom.

"Friday evening?"

"I will figure something out," Mistoffelees said, glancing up at him.

The corner of Coricopat's mouth turned up just slightly, "If something arises let me know." He glanced at the other before returning his gaze to the dance floor.

"I will," Mistoffelees promised, watching Victoria dancing with Macavity, looking at Plato and Jones who both looked put out but could hardly complain. "It'll be fine."

The mottled tom didn't remark on that beyond a quiet, "of course it will," and even then felt like he was lying.


	26. Just In Case You Forgot That

Several days later, Mistoffelees riffled through Jones' desk. He'd been ordered to find something or another, and was having no luck. Opening the bottom drawer, he paused for a long moment, hefting up a stack of letters written to him and his mother, only the top few of which had been open.

Curious, he opened the first one, pulling out the letter and freezing when he saw the date and the name at the bottom.

v.v.v.v

Coricopat shook out his umbrella as he climbed the stairs to his flat. It had been a beautiful day, right up until he had stepped out of the office. He'd managed to not hail a cab, and actually had one nearly douse him with a puddle of water. Shaking off his briefcase as well, he fumbled for his key and finally got the door open. He paused when he saw the fire was lit, he'd set it but not lit it before he left for work as he did every morning. Hanging his coat up he finally registered who it was when he saw the other coat. Closing the door, he made his way into the living room, "Mistoffelees?"

The black tom was seated on the floor, letters spread out everywhere around him, and compared to that morning, about three fourths of them were opened. "Hey," Mistoffelees said, a yellowed sheet of paper in his paws.

The solicitor set his briefcase down and shed his suit coat as he did whenever he came home. He made his way over and sat down beside his lover, "What's going on?"

Wordless, Mistoffelees just handed him the letter. Coricopat took the paper, skimming over it and then simply staring at the signature at the bottom, "This...Your...where did you find these?"

"In my uncle's desk," Mistoffelees replied, pointing to the name at the bottom. "That's my father's name."

"And this date, this wouldn't have been..." His grey eyes moved to the other, "All of these letters are from your father?"

"Yes," he whispered.

"Dear Lord...and they were locked in your uncle's desk?"

"Well, not even locked," Mistoffelees said. "I was looking for something else." Something he never had gotten to his uncle.

"What are you going to do?"

"What do you mean?" Mistoffelees asked, looking over at him.

"I mean, what is the most recent date on a letter here?"

"A month ago," Mistoffelees said, having opened that one first.

"So do you intend to contact him?" the mottled tom asked, still trying to wrap his mind around the entire thing.

"I don't know," the black tom said, looking down and ears going back. "What would I possibly even say?"

"Let him know you've seen the letters finally? I don't know. Will you talk to your mother about them?"

Looking down, Mistoffelees fiddled with one of the letters. "I don't know. She's been mourning him for years."

"She's been mourning a tom who isn't dead," the mottled tom spoke quietly.

"But he's still been gone," Mistoffelees said, reflexively pulling his knees to his chest.

His lover hesitated for a moment before reaching out to rest a paw on the other's shoulder, "But he's never stopped writing her."

"Us, technically," Mistoffelees said, looking down at one of the letters. "He used to ask about my schooling and he actually guessed it all pretty well."

"The point stands, Mistoffelees. He wrote to you both, and you say she's been mourning him for years."

Swallowing, Mistoffelees finally looked back up. "Which point is that?"

"That they both love one another. Deeply. It..." he considered how best to word what was on his mind, "It is your decision whether to share these with your mother, but I would counsel you to do so."

Mistoffelees buried his head in his paws. "I know. Can I have a while longer to absorb the fact first?"

Coricopat tilted his head enough to kiss the nape of the other tom's neck, "Of course. As long as you need."

Mistoffelees shivered slightly at the touch. "I don't remember my father, really. I've never known him."

"Do you remember anything of him?"

"He had a very loud voice," Mistoffelees said. "And was very warm."

"And apparently cared for both of you a great deal," Coricopat murmured, tracing a paw over the edge of one of the letters.

"Yeah," Mistoffelees said, eyes bright when they reappeared from his paws, chin on his knees.

The mottled tom gently stroked the smaller cat's headfur, not certain he had anything further to say, just letting the other sort things himself. Mistoffelees unfolded enough to lean into him, finishing the letter he'd been holding when Coricopat appeared. "I'm sorry," he said, quietly. "I sort of didn't ask you about taking over your living room like this."

"Don't be. You're always welcome here, Mistoffelees. You know that."

"Still," he said, head on Coricopat's shoulder and he wrapped an arm around his chest. "How was your day?"

"Long, but it has gone better than it could have," one of his arms settled around the smaller cat.

"How... how is the contract going?"

Coricopat sighed, "It's progressing. Not as quickly as some, but there are few things to hold it back either."

The smaller tom sighed, tilting his head back. "Cori..."

"Yes?" he glanced at the other out of the corner of his eye.

"I love you," he said softly, smiling faintly. "Just in case you forgot that."

The mottled tom offered him a slight smile, "And I you. No matter what comes of this."

Pushing himself up, Mistoffelees kissed him, the movement long and slow. Coricopat leaned into the kiss, matching the other's guidance. His tail curled loosely around the other tom.

"Can I," he started and took a deep breath. "Can I stay the night?"

The solicitor nodded, "Of course. As I said, you're always welcome."

Mistoffelees smiled faintly, rising to gather together all the letters before returning to the crook of Coricopat's arm. Coricopat drew the other closer, content for the moment to sit with him curled in front of the fire and let the world carry on past them. They would have to face the concerns later, but it was fare preferable to spend just a pawful of minutes in moderate peace.

v.v.v.v

The next morning Mistoffelees approached his mother's Boudoir, knocking on the door.

Serafine looked up from the letter she was writing to a distant cousin, "Come in."

Mistoffelees took a deep breath before entering, the letters all neatly in a pile again and held together

"Good morning, Mistoffelees." She offered him a faint smile, "What brings you to see me this morning?"

"I," he hesitated a long moment before stepping forward, still holding the letters. "You... remember my father of course?" he said, lamely.

Serafine considered him for a long moment, "Of course I remember him, Mistoffelees."

"Remind me what happened," Mistoffelees said, voice faint.

"I'm not entirely certain. He was away on business, dealing with some shipment or other. He never came home. I was told he'd died," her expression wavered to one of pain for a moment. "I couldn't keep the shop and so I brought us both here."

"Alright," Mistoffelees said, with another breath before he handed the bundle over. "Someone lied."

Sera took the letters in confusion, dropping her gaze to them and freezing as she recognized the familiar paw. "Wh-where did you find these?"

"In my uncle's desk," Mistoffelees said. "The most recent is a month old. Did you know they had sheep in Australia?"

"I..." She just sat there, staring at the letters, "A month?"

"Yes," he said. "They're actually very regularly written every three months for the past... however many years it's been," he floundered for a moment.

The queen traced a paw over them, "And your uncle's had them all this time?"

"Yes," he said, voice soft.

Her voice went cold, "My husband has been alive for twenty years and my brother has been keeping this from me?"

"Yes," he repeated, one ear tilting back. "And your brother also appears to have somehow convinced my father that you didn't want him back, and twenty odd years of silence certainly gave credence to that story. Something about wanting the life you had back, rather than a life with him."

Serafine's eyes narrowed as she drew one of the letters out, seeking a return address. "Your uncle does not know you have these, I hope?"

"I've given him no indication I have," the black tom shrugged.

"Good," she nodded once, "I believe I have a letter to write. Do not let you uncle know if you can."

He paused, one ear just about tilting back. "I may have sent a telegram."

Her brows rose at that, "You..." A smile slowly graced her features, "Good."

He offered her a hesitant smile in return. "I'm glad you do not consider it pre-emptive."

"I would have had a letter to him by this afternoon's post. Wiring him is far more abrupt, but it will also reach him more rapidly," she answered simply.

He nodded, swallowing again. "And will we tell Jones?"

"I will," she confirmed. "Tomorrow I think."

He blinked. "Good... good luck."

Serafine smiled faintly, "Thank you."

"You," he gestured to the pile. "I read all of them. Already. If you wanted to look through them."

"Thank you, Mistoffelees," her tone was sincere. "Thank you so very much."

"You're welcome," he said, quietly, unsure this was something he should be thanked for.

Sera dropped her gaze to the letters in her paws, "If...if you don't mind?" Nodding, he turned to slip out. The black-furred queen hesitated for a long moment before carefully untying the ribbon and starting to read the letters.

v.v.v.v

Mistoffelees handed his hat to one of the servants, looking around the foyer of the townhouse and trying not to feel distaste. He'd never really liked Plato's sensibilities, even when he thought he was in love with the tom. "Will you go and tell the lady I'm here?" he asked the Butler, who left him in one of the parlors.

Victoria entered the parlor a few minutes later, a smile lighting her features at the sight of her cousin, "Mistoffelees, how good of you to come."

"Of course," he said, smiling warmly at her. "I wanted to see how you were doing."

Her smile turned a shade bitter, "I am a bride in her first year of marriage, I am quite well."

He considered her a long moment. "You can be honest, here, with me."

"The servants are still my husband's, Misto. Though I believe I have won over more than a few," she reminded quietly.

"I can check the door for listeners," he said with a small grin. "Because no others are actually in this room."

She offered him a smile as she sat down in one of the chairs, "Honestly? I feel trapped, this was not how I expected my married life to be."

Sighing softly, he nodded. "I am sorry about that. Have things been... too terrible or simply bad?"

"Mostly just consistently bad. Once in a while it may be a shade worse, but mostly just bad."

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "Have you found anything to occupy your time?"

"Not much. I read some during the day. And I have a tapestry that I am working on, but no, not much to occupy me." She sighed, "But enough talk of that. What of you? How have you been?"

"There have been... various sorts of things," he managed after a moment. "I find myself enjoying the house of commons more than I expected, and probably for all the wrong reasons."

His cousin smiled, "Tell me about those reasons?"

"Well," he said. "It's very different. Some of the cats there are quite loud, and there's many interesting and strange personalities. Watching them clash is better than the theatre."

That garnered a quiet laugh, "As long as you are amused I suppose."

"I should be taking it much more seriously than I am, I think," he said with a faint smile.

"Oh quite probably."

The black tom paused a long moment. "Vic," he started, about to try and offer her comfort or some way out when there came a rapid knock on the door.

The white queen looked up in surprise, rising and starting for the door as the butler reached it.

"Milady," a courier said, standing at the door. "I bring news." Mistoffelees rose, stepping behind Victoria.

She looked the tom at the door over carefully, "And what news has brought you to my door?"

"There was an accident," the tom said, tail swishing. "We... we believe your husband has been killed."

Her eyes widened at that, "You...believe?"

"We are fairly sure," the tom amended. "There is only formality to be observed."

"And that is?" her voice was weak.

"Can it wait?" Mistoffelees asked and the tom paused and nodded.

"Of course."

Victoria offered her cousin a look of gratitude, speaking to the courier, "Thank you for bringing us the news."

"I'm sorry for your loss," the tom said, the butler ushering him out quickly as Mistoffelees took Victoria's paw and lead her back to a seat.

Victoria sank down in the chair, her mind blank, "Misto?"

"Yes?" he asked, softly.

"What am I to do?"

"Call a lawyer," he said after a pause. "Go into mourning."

"There's all of the funeral arrangements to see to. We didn't really have friends who can do that. Which will mean the family will have to I suppose..."

"We can do it," Mistoffelees said. "At least, I am sure mother and I are more than willing to do whatever you would need. With whatever the Philipsons wish to offer."

"Thank you," she murmured, still looking like she wasn't processing what was going on around her. Pausing, he reached his paws out, taking both of her's.

Her shoulders shook, "I...don't even know, Misto. I should feel something shouldn't I?"

"Not yet," he replied, not adding that honestly he wouldn't blame her for never feeling something. "You're still adjusting."

"I have to go into mourning. As the bereaved wife of a tom I didn't like, much less love."

"It won't last forever," Mistoffelees said.

A ghost of a smile flickered across her face, "No. Not forever, but long enough."

He swallowed, returning the faded smile. "Just think of it as putting on a show."

"You were always the better performer, but I shall try," she replied.

"You'll make it through," he said, softly.

"Thank you," his cousin murmured.

"Do you need me to do anything?" he asked, squeezing her paw a bit tighter.

"Not...not at the moment. Though, if you could tell Aunt Sera and perhaps my father? I must get word to Plato's parents, make certain they have been informed."

Mistoffelees nodded. "Of course. I'll tell them as soon as I reach home."

"Thank you," the white queen managed.

"Would you like me to stop by the lawyers, tell them you shall have need of their services or shall that keep until later?"

"I...if you could do that I would greatly appreciate it."

"I'll be sure to," he said, softly.

"What would I do without you?" She asked, offering him a gentle smile.

"I have no idea," he said, finally returning the smile.

v.v.v.v

Pouncival arrived at the theatre well before the play was scheduled to start and made his way to the backstage area, seeking out Jemima. He had news for her, closely accompanied by a question of utmost importance.

She was still in the dressing rooms, working on arranging her headfur for the night's performance. Her eyes darted up when she heard someone approaching, a smile breaking out on her face when she saw who it was. "Pouncival. But what are you doing here?"

His smile was bright as he answered, "I came to speak with you about a couple of things, Jemima."

"What sort of things?" she asked, rising to go over to him.

"Well, I..." he hesitated, finally getting up the courage, "I wanted to ask you if you would do me the honor of marrying me?"

Eyes going wide her jaw dropped. "Come again?" she asked faintly.

"I," he bit his lower lip, "That was a bit abrupt wasn't it? I wanted to ask you if you'd be willing to become my wife, before I went to ask your father?"

"A-are you asking him today?" she asked, eyes still wide.

"I was going to wait to hear your answer before I decided that," he looked a bit uncertain.

"I, Pounce," she started, suddenly looking uncertain. "But, your family, your position..."

"My family will recover." He hesitated, "My position is something that you need to take into account, because it's changing even now. I've been asked to leave the country. To go with the Ambassador to the United States to work in the embassy. If you agree to marry me, it means leaving."

For a moment she tried to thing, both her paws resting lightly on his chest. "The Americans aren't that forgiving either," she said, finally. "Wouldn't marrying me hurt your position in society even over there?"

"There is a possibility of that, but it may be easier in a place where our families aren't known," he replied, his paws coming up to cover hers.

"But," she started and paused, considering him a long moment. "Are you sure?"

He nodded, "Yes, Jemi. I'm sure."

"It, it'll cause a lot of problems. You're still your father's heir, when he dies..."

"Which likely will not be for many years."

"But eventually," she said, voice soft. "And then what? What happens when society starts... starts looking at me and my entire lack of qualifications?"

He reached a paw up to rest on her cheek, "I can ask father to hand the inheritance to my younger brother if I need to, Jemi. It isn't often done, but it is something that could be."

She took a deep breath. "Are... really?"

Pouncival nodded, "Yes. Really, Jemi."

She took another deep breath before another smile broke out over her face. "Then how could I say no?"

He grinned, "You really mean it? You'd give up London for me?"

"Yes," she said, nodding and leaning in to kiss him lightly.

He wrapped an arm around her waist as he kissed her gently, but briefly, "I shall speak with your father tonight? Or would you prefer I wait until tomorrow?"

"Whenever you like," she replied. "When... when are you leaving?"

"The end of next month," he replied. "That's when the Ambassador's appointment starts."

"That's not a lot of time is it?" Jemima asked, eyes widening slightly.

"Considering the circumstances I may be able to ask for a period of time before I join him. The end of the season perhaps. He leaves then, but..." Pouncival bit his lower lip, considering.

"As long as it's not before Bomba's wedding," Jemi grinned. "Then I don't mind."

He returned the smile, "I don't want to think of what she would do to me should I take you away before then."

"Exactly. So let's keep that from happening, hm?"

He smiled, kissing her lightly again, "I should let you get ready for your performance, shouldn't I?"

"It might be good. Messing up one of my last performances is not how I would want to go out."

"I'll come back after the show. Break a leg, my love."

"I'll try to," she said with a twinkling laugh. He offered her a grin before slipping away and entering the lobby.


	27. It's In My Job Description

It took a while for the office to get the paperwork prepared, but soon enough Macavity found himself standing outside the door to what used to be Plato Philipson's townhouse. "Great," he muttered, tilting his head back. "I should've stuck to thieving." With a sigh, he knocked on the door, telling the suspicious looking butler he was in fact the lawyer.

He was shown into one of the parlors and Victoria joined him several minutes later, dressed in full mourning, "Mr. Hollister."

"Mrs. Philipson," Macavity said, voice soft as his eyes tracked over her.

"Thank you for coming," she murmured.

"It is in my job description," he replied and almost winced. "But you're welcome."

Victoria dropped her gaze at that, drawing a steadying breath, "You have the first set of papers there, then?"

"Yes," he said. "Are you ready for them? It can wait."

"I am as ready to deal with them as I will ever be. They need to be dealt with," she murmured.

"Then, shall we?" he asked, motioning toward the chairs.

The white queen nodded very slightly, moving over and sitting down on one of the chairs. Hesitating, he followed her, sliding into the seat across and pulling out the papers. "How have you been holding up, milady?"

"I have been holding up well enough, sir. My husband is dead, but there is much to be done."

"That," he hesitated and considered. "That does not seem particularly heart broken."

She looked at him for a long moment, "Are you so surprised?"

Considering everything Coricopat had told him, and the dance just a few weeks ago, he shook his head. "I will mourn him as expected, and then I shall continue my life. It will hardly be the easiest thing I have done, but it will be done."

"I'm still sorry," he said. "If not for your loss then for having to go through this."

Victoria offered him a faint smile, "Thank you, Mr. Hollister."

"Words aren't much to give you," he said, busying himself with the papers.

"But they are something. And I thank you for them," she replied, her gaze moving to the papers.

"You'll need to sign some things," he said, not looking up. "I can explain the language to you if you need.

"I likely will. Legal matters were not my area at any time in my life."

He gave her a thin smile. "They shouldn't be part of anyone's life. I still think I'm a fool for choosing a profession that's so twisty. But it does bring in money."

She offered him a faint smile in return, "Well, twisty or not, people need it."

"Could be less complicated," he pointed out, pushing the first page toward her.

"Probably," she answered, turning her attention to the papers.

He tried to explain them in as small words as possible, except he kept getting distracted and animated as trying to explain small points of legal law, and the ways he'd twisted them to get the most favorable terms. He may have just dismissed law, but his face lit up when he talked about manipulating it. By the end of it, Victoria had set aside the smiles she had been giving him for far more genuine ones.

He tried to explain them in as small words as possible, except he kept getting distracted and animated as trying to explain small points of legal law, and the ways he'd twisted them to get the most favorable terms. He may have just dismissed law, but his face lit up when he talked about manipulating it. By the end of it, Victoria had set aside the smiles she had been giving him for far more genuine ones.

"And that..." he paused, considering. "Should honestly be the last of it. For today, at any rate."

"Will," she hesitated, "when do you think you'll need to come again?"

"Next week, probably," he said, suddenly paying more attention to the papers again.

Victoria dropped her gaze to her paws, "Thank you again, Macavity."

"Any time," he said after a moment of looking at her. "I mean, for you? I don't mind at all."

She offered him a faint smile, "Still, thank you. I would be completely lost without your help."

He returned the smile after another pause. "It's no problem. When it's the only thing I can give."

"It's so very much, though."

Hesitating, he lightly brushed her paw. "Then you're welcome."

Victoria startled faintly at the touch, but her smile brightened a bit, "And you will have more papers for next week?"

"I will," he said, own smile matching her's inch by inch. "Probably for a few more weeks."

"I should let you return to your office."

Pausing, he nodded. "I have some time, but time is still money and I should probably..."

"I will see you next week," she offered him a gentle smile.

"Til then," he said, brushing her paw again and rising.

She rose, seeing him to the door of the room, "Take care, Mr. Hollister."

"You too," he said. "You especially. I'll be back soon."

Victoria offered him another gentle smile and watched him go before heading back to her rooms.

v.v.v.v

Mistoffelees looked around the restaurant, feeling jittery in his skin. They had not eaten somewhere respectable in a while, going to pubs to avoid Plato. Only that was no longer a factor and he wasn't actually sure how to feel about that.

Tumble arrived shortly after him, settling down at the table across from his friend, "Afternoon, Misto."

"Good afternoon," he said, voice soft, eyes tracking over his friend. "How does the day find you?'

"As well as can be expected, I suppose." He touched the black armband he wore in memory of his cousin.

"I'm sorry," Mistoffelees said, the words automatic.

Tumble shrugged slightly, "The family will recover, given a bit of time. We'll miss him, but grief should fade." He glanced up as Pounce sat down in one of the remaining seats.

"Still," Mistoffelees said and glanced at Pounce, his ears never having quite straightened since Tumble appeared.

Pouncival glanced at Mistoffelees, "How are you today?"

"Fair enough," he said, not wearing any black arm band even though it might have been appropriate. "How do you fare?"

Pounce glanced between them, "Pretty well, actually."

"That's a nice change," he said, darting a glance at Tumble.

Tumble nodded his agreement, "What's causing this, Pounce?"

He hesitated, "Well, I've a job now, and I'm engaged."

"You're-what?" Mistoffelees asked, abruptly.

Pounce bit his lip, "Engaged."

"The actress?" Tumble's brow rose sharply.

"Or arranged?" Mistoffelees asked, bitterness curling around his words and he winced.

Their friend offered Mistoffelees a slightly hurt look, "No. It's Jemima."

Tumble just stared at him, trying to find a way to express what he was thinking when he knew his own affair was a hundred time worse.

"What?" Mistoffelees frowned at Pounce's look.

"I've been courting her for well over a year," his friend answered quietly. "Arranged marriage or not, at this point I would let my father disown me."

Mistoffelees dropped his eyes. "He probably will anyway."

Pounce drew a deep breath, nodding slightly, "Quite probably. I'm leaving within the next couple of months, though."

"For where?" Mistoffelees asked, eyes snapping up and ears almost going flat.

"I have a position with the new ambassador to the United States."

Tumble blinked at him, his ears tilting back, "And when were you going to let us know this?"

"Well, I...now?"

"The correct question is when did you find out?" Mistoffelees asked.

"This past week," Pounce answered.

"And when did you get engaged?" he inquired.

"Three days past," the patched tom said, one ear flickering at Mistoffelees' questions.

The smaller tom gave him a long look but there was little way he could actually complain, having never come close to willingly telling Pounce about his own lover. Of course, he could never get engaged to them anyway, and possibly the entire British Empire knew about his own engagement. "Oh."

Pounce glanced at Tumble who offered a faint shrug, "It would have been nice to hear when it happened, Pounce."

"I suppose I should have let you know. It's just with everything else..." he glanced at the conspicuously empty seat at their table.

For half a second Mistoffelees really did consider storming out. "Maybe good news would have been appreciated."

Pounce flinched at that, "I..."

Tumble looked at Mistoffelees with a small frown, "He didn't wait that long to tell us, Misto."

"I'm sorry," the smaller tom said, the words practically automatic, too many of his own secrets still unshared.

"It's fine," Pouncival murmured. "Is...what's going on with you, Misto?"

"How do you mean?" he asked, dropping his paws into his lap.

"I mean, what's happening in your life? Beyond the engagement and your cousin."

"Who says anything is happening?" he asked, voice going dry.

"No one? I just thought I would ask," Pounce answered almost warily.

Mistoffelees clamped down on a sigh. "I'm sorry," he repeated, realizing he was wearing the phrase out. "It's been more than enough with my own engagement, arranged by my uncle of course, and Plato's quite sudden death. But," he paused again.

"But?" Pounce pressed, earning him a sharp look from Tumble.

"You're pushier now that you have an occupation," Mistoffelees returned, dryly. "But I believe it will only be a little longer before my father arrives. From Australia." Coricopat he still kept to himself.

Tumble's brows shot up at that, "Your father? But I thought that he..."

"So did everyone else," Mistoffelees replied, ear going back.

"But he's coming to England?" Pounce looked shocked, but it was tinged with curiosity. "How did you find him?"

"I didn't, so much," Mistoffelees shifted back. "I found his letters was all."

"His letters." Tumble blinked at him, "That's quite the find. All these years later."

"The last one wasn't a month old," Mistoffelees said. "So it's not quite all these years later."

Pounce shook his head, "I think there's still a point there that Tumble has. So you've written him then?"

"In... some ways," Mistoffelees replied. "More of I telegrammed him."

That earned a slow nod from Tumble, "Well, I wish you well when he arrives."

"Thank you," he said, adjusting a fork compulsively.

v.v.v.v

Serafine looked up at a hesitant knock on her boudoir door, "Enter."

The servant came into the room, looking quite pale, "Milady."

"What is it?"

"It...it's the master, milady."

The black-furred queen sighed, "What does he wish?"

"Nothing. He...he's dead, milady."

The mistress of the house rose, sweeping out of the room behind the servant and down to her brother's office. She entered, brushing aside the butler outside. Sera froze inside at the sight of her brother before she backed out of the room and closed the door, "Send my son to me. And send for a doctor."

"Milady?"

"I would have someone confirm him dead before we announce it."

Mistoffelees came down the steps, frowning as he finished tying his carvat. "Mother. Is something happening?"

Sera looked toward her son, waving the servants away to do as she had instructed, "There's...That is..."

"Mother?" Mistoffelees approached, mentally rearranging his day's plans.

She glanced at her brother's office door, "Your uncle...he..." Drawing a deep breath she finally said it, "He's dead."

The smaller tom blinked at her. "You... but, how?"

"I do not know. It was rather sudden, so I can only surmise it was his health," she shook her head.

"It was never the best," Mistoffelees agreed, taking a step away from the door.

Serafine glanced at the door again before stepping away, "We...have things we should see to."

"Yes," he managed, not quite going hysterical yet. "I suppose this does mean I'd have to go into mourning."

She held a paw out to him, "Yes. It does. We shall have to go into mourning, and the lawyers, and I shall have to send notification to friends. And his business partners."

"I'll deal with the lawyers and business," Mistoffelees said.

"Good. I don't have the knowledge for those. I'll send the cards to friends tomorrow. Today I shall see about clothes for mourning, and that the notifications are prepared," Sera murmured.

"Are, are you sure?" Mistoffelees asked, ears going back. "That he really...?"

"I've sent the servant for a doctor. To confirm."

Swallowing, Mistoffelees nodded. "Alright. Shall I deal with the doctor then?"

"…I can if you need me to. Though I should let Victoria know." The older queen drew a shaky breath at that, "Oh Lord..."

"I can," Mistoffelees said, resting a hand on her arm. "Let me help." He was sure to be more then busy in the days to come.

His mother offered him a faint, sad smile, "If you would?"

"Yes," he repeated. "I can do whatever you need me to."

"Thank you. If you could see the doctor. I'll see to the tailors, and the notifications."

"You have my measurements I believe?"

Serafine nodded, "Yes. I'll use the usual tailor."

"Then if you need to see Victoria... send, my, my affection to her would you?"

"I shall. I'll be out most of the day."

"I'll let the servants know," he said.

"Thank you," she murmured. "I'll be back in time for a light dinner."

"I'll have it prepared."

Serafine offered him the faintest quirk of her lips before heading for her chambers to find something she could wear before finding full mourning.

Mistoffelees waited for the doctor to confirm and to give orders to the servants before appearing at Bailey and Solicitor's offices. Coricopat looked up from the papers he was going over, "Mist-er Quaxo. What brings you here?"

"I," he started as Macavity looked up in confusion. "I, it seems that my uncle has recently passed. I need to speak to your employer about, the fact, that I am his heir."

The mottled tom's eyes widened and he rose, "I'll...let him know you're here."

"Thank you," he said, meeting Coricopat's eyes for a moment. The other nodded slightly and slipped over to Bailey's office, knocking on the door.

"What is it?" Bailey demanded. Mistoffelees startled at the voice and went to the door, slipping into the office to talk to the solicitor. Coricopat stood, staring at the closed door for a long moment before turning back to his own desk.

A while later, a somewhat haggard looking Mistoffelees emerged.

The mottled tom hesitated and then rose, his voice pitched low enough that Bailey wouldn't hear him, "Mistoffelees?"

He reached a paw out to Coricopat's shoulder, holding it for a moment. "When will you head home?"

"Five o'clock," the other answered softly.

"Can I?" Mistoffelees asked softly, asking to come over aftwards. "There is still much to be done."

His lover nodded, "Of course."

Mistoffelees gave him another long look, lingering before he nodded, heading for the door. Macavity finally looked up from where he'd been busying himself while Mistoffelees was there. Coricopat drew a deep breath before returning to his desk and glancing at his friend.

"Will you be alright?" the ginger tabby asked.

"I will. I think...I don't know if he will."

"I'm sure he'll figure something out. He's adaptable after all," Macavity shrugged. "He's adjusted to many things after all."

Coricopat nodded very slightly, "I hope so."

"Trust in him," Macavity advised.

"I..." the mottled tom offered him a faint smile, "Thank you."

v.v.v.v

Fumbling around, Tugger was trying to pack things away, in preparation for Bombalurina moving out. He was covered in ink again though, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

There was a hesitant knock at the door, the person trying to figure out whether they should be there or not. Tugger blinked, head snapping up before he went to the door.

Tumble stood on the other side, offering the other a faint smile, "Hello."

Tugger offered him a wide grin, exhaustion melting away. "Tumble!"

"May I come in?"

"Of course," Tugger said, stepping to the side. "I mean, I'd say the place is a mess but-it sorta always is."

Tumble stepped inside, offering the other a bit of a smile, "It does seem a bit more chaotic than when I was in last."

"Moving does that, apparently," Tugger shrugged.

"Moving? You're...leaving?" He looked confused by that.

"No," Tugger laughed. "Bomba. She got engaged. To my  _brother_ no less, and believe me, I'm still not sure what to do with that. But there you have it."

Tumble blinked at that, "She's engaged to your brother?"

Tugger paused. "Did you not hear about that? I'm sure it'll cause some kind of scandal, but yeah. He proposed. 'Straps always was a bit more romantic."

That earned a bit of a smile, "Unfortunately I've been engaged with other matters recently."

"I heard, some," Tugger said, spine tensing. "I'm sorry. Seems your set hasn't been faring too well lately."

The smaller tom sighed, "No. Not especially well at all, unfortunately. It's...not been easy all of it coming on the heels of the rest."

"The heels of the rest?" Tugger asked, slipping an arm around Tumble's waist.

"Plato's death, Lord Jones, one of my dearest friends from kithood is going to cause a right scandal shortly just before he leaves the country." He shook his head before resting it against Tugger's chest, "God, I'm tired."

Tugger hummed, pulling him closer and a paw coming up to the back of his neck. "Shush. You're okay here."

He drew a shaky breath, "Thank you."

"What else would I possibly do?" Tugger asked, threading a paw through his headfur.

"I don't know, but it's nice knowing I have somewhere I can come."

Tugger grinned into his headfur. "You can always come here. I miss you when you're gone."

Tumble nestled a little closer to the other, "And I you. I miss you so very much when I'm away."

"I mean," Tugger started, blushing lightly. "There's always something to do but..."

Tumble drew back enough to lean up and kiss the other tom, his paws twining in Tugger's mane. The taller tom leaned down, kissing the other thoroughly, paws resting on his hips.

Making a small noise in the back of his throat, the noble pressed up against the other as a faint purr replaced the sound. Tugger grinned, leaning back to smooth a kiss across Tumble's forehead to his ears.

The smaller tom's ears flickered, but he smiled up at the other, "God, it's good to see you."

The taller laughed, kissing him again. "That's not entirely something I'm used to hearing."

"Well, that's a shame. And it doesn't make it less true."

"You certainly didn't like me before," Tugger replied, still peppering kisses over his face.

Tumble laughed, trying to draw his head away slightly, "I was trying to avoid liking you. There's a difference."

"Really?" Tugger grinned, paws tracing along his back. "Care to elaborate on that difference?"

Arching at that touch, the young nobleman smiled, "Well, trying to keep myself from liking you required me to like you in the first place, while disliking is built on negative assumptions, which I've found tend to be easier to handle."

"My question was more why try to dislike me in the first place," Tugger chuckled.

Tumble blushed slightly, "Well, because it's hardly proper what we are, and what you do. It...seemed a good idea at the time?"

Tugger laughed again, pulling him a bit closer. "And now?"

"Now...I don't think I much care at all whether this is improper or not."

The taller laughed again, leaning in for a long kiss.


	28. A Lavish Affair

The funeral of Bustopher Jones had been a lavish affair, and well attended though not by many actual mourners. The day after, Mistoffelees went out to the country house to find the rest of his uncle's papers, and start setting his inheritance to rights.

A short while later he sent a telegram to Coricopat, asking him to come and confer over several discoveries he'd made.

Coricopat took the morning train from London, arriving later in the day and getting a carriage to the estate. He knocked on the door and assured the servant who answered it that the master of the house had in fact sent for him on matters of business. He was shown to one of the front parlors to wait for Mistoffelees.

Shortly therefore, Mistoffelees entered quickly, a smile breaking out on his face when he saw the other.

The taller tom turned from the window where he had been standing, his expression mirroring his lover's, "Mistoffelees."

He pulled the mottled tom in for a quick kiss before stepping back just as fast. "There's more servants here," he said, softly. "Come, into the library. We need to discuss some things."

Coricopat nodded, following the other through the halls to the library, murmuring, "I see a lock on this door at the least."

Mistoffelees laughed. "That would just make them suspicious, and quite a few of the servants don't much like me yet. Or, rather, they don't know what to make of me and that might as well translate into dislike at this point. They're loyal to my mother, my uncle, or Victoria, not me. Yet, anyway," he said, sitting down. "I'm actually figuring on a few notices."

The mottled tom laughed quietly at that, "Well, notices certainly aren't the worst thing that might happen. It gives you the opportunity to hire some that might have a shade more loyalty for you."

"It does," Mistoffelees agreed with a nod, sitting behind the desk and shifting, uncomfortable being there. "At any rate, discretion is certainly the feeling of the day."

Coricopat circled the desk, leaning against it, "As it always has been. I assume there is actual business for us to discuss considering the estate you've suddenly come into."

"I was basking in your company first," Mistoffelees replied, only partially teasing before sighing and handing Coricopat a number of papers. "It appears my uncle was as good at lying as I've become. The estate is knee deep in debt."

The lawyer took them, looking them over and working through some quick calculations, "Which of the holdings do you hope to retain?"

"I am uncertain, at the moment," he replied.

"The town house and this estate?" Coricopat offered.

"Well, yes," Mistoffelees said, blinking once. The thought hadn't even occurred to him. "The estate will have to remain intact, and the tenants. But he has a variety of properties in the North and a few in, in the colonies I think that could be sold off with little trouble. There's also plenty of his... more outlandish tastes I would not mind selling off such as sculptures and furniture."

The solicitor nodded, "I would start with the northern holdings. Then the Irish ones. From there, see what is still owed and what else can be sold to pay off the debt before selling the sculptures and furniture-as at least some of that will require replacement I'm sure."

"I don't mind replacing some of it," he said, making a face. "I would just prefer to be rid of it and deal with replacements as they are needed. Even if my mother and I stay in the townhouse a while longer..." he paused, running a paw through his hair. "It's not awful, but it would still require some curtailing of expenses."

"It will, yes. I can see about setting the sale of the northern properties into motion once I return to London."

"If you would," he murmured and considered for a moment.

Coricopat inclined his head, "Of course." He glanced at the smaller tom, "Something further on your mind?"

He tapped his fingers on the edge of the desk. "Isn't everything enough? Come on, he said, standing again. "Let's go outside."

The mottled tom hesitated, but nodded, "Lead the way."

Offering him a faint smile, Mistoffelees weaved through the house quickly, exiting near the rose gardens at the front. Trailing behind him, Coricopat paused, "May I ask where we're going?"

"One of my uncle's many extravagances was a garden," Mistoffelees shrugged. "It's pretty. I know the neighbor has been eying it for years but, I just wanted to be outside and moving. Life's felt cooped up lately."

"How large is it?" his lover asked as they entered the garden.

"Six acres," Mistoffelees replied, glancing back.

"It's quite the area," he remarked, falling into step beside the smaller tom. "Useful for getting lost in."

"Something like that," he agreed, looking around. "I know he was never one for actually coming out here though."

"It is lovely, even if he didn't come out here it was well invested in."

"It is," Mistoffelees agreed, paw brushing along the branches of a tree. "It's a nice place to think."

"Do you have a favorite section of it?" Coricopat's gaze swept over an elegantly arranged set of rose bushes.

"Over here," he said, taking one of Coricopat's paws and holding it. The mottled tom squeezed his paw, letting him lead him through the gardens.

Mistoffelees stopped to settle on a bench underneath the weeping willow. "You don't think the idea that I'm mired in debt might be enough to annul an engagement do you think?"

Coricopat smiled faintly as he joined the other, "I'm certain you could indicate it and see about it being broken."

"I suppose, someday, I should do the sensible thing, get married and produce an heir but," he paused again and shook his head. "I just can't."

"Perhaps your cousin will remarry," the mottled tom responded in regards to the heirship. "I know it's a concern, but I can't say I'm sorry you have no desire to be married."

Shifting, Mistoffelees leaned his head against Coricopat's shoulder. "Well, now I have to be into politics it seems."

The mottled tom gently looped an arm around the other, "Yes, it would seem you have no choice in that matter."

"I could do what many lords do, which is to ignore the entire thing and go off wherever I wish to do whatever I wish. But frankly I would rather be somewhere where I might be able to achieve some good."

"You could ignore it, but if you did you wouldn't be you. That hope to achieve some good is that dreamer I fell in love with," Coricopat murmured.

Mistoffelees smiled up at him. "And do you promise to be always honest with me?"

"As honest as a lawyer can be," the other answered with a faint smile.

"For you? That's remarkably honest," the black tom said with a grin.

The taller cat smirked, "So long as you think so."

Unable to help it, Mistoffelees leaned forward to kiss him softly before shifting back. "We should... probably see about that paperwork that will need to be dealt with."

Coricopat glanced around the garden as he nodded, "Yes, we probably should."

Leaning in to kiss him again Mistoffelees drew back, rising. "Here, let me show you the rest of the gardens. Then we should go in."

Coricopat rose, resting his paw briefly on the other's cheek, "Lead on."

v.v.v.v

Tilting his head back, Mistoffelees tried not to shift too obviously. "Are you sure meeting him off the ship was a good idea?"

Serafine ran a paw over her gown, "I don't know. But I did not wish for him to return to England without someone he recognized here to greet him."

"Still," the smaller said. "I worry."

She glanced at her son, "Would you have preferred he meet us at the townhouse?"

"At least there I might have been comfortable," Mistoffelees said, spine tense but he sighed. "I just don't know what to do with this wait."

"I doubt even being there would have granted you all that much comfort. You could have sent a servant with me," she reminded.

He bit his lip, tail swishing behind him. "That is true. But I wouldn't want to send you here alone."

"Thank you for coming and waiting with me," she murmured, resting a gentle paw on his arm.

He offered her a faint smile and nodded as he watched the cats filing off the ship.

Serafine's gaze swept over the passengers as they made their way down the gangplank, seeking a specific tabby pattern.

"I'm not even sure what he'd look like anymore," Mistoffelees said. "You'll recognize him right?"

Just then a tabby came off the ship, looking around like he didn't quite expect anycat to be there.

The black queen froze momentarily, before drawing a deep breath and nodding, "That's him, just off the gangplank." She stepped forward, paw still on her son's arm as she murmured an apology to a couple of cats until she finally reached a place where she could meet her husband's eyes. "Orion."

The tabby paused for a long moment, before grinning widely. "Sera?" he asked, glancing at the stiff black tom beside her. "Misto? Is that...?"

His wife smiled, softly though the honesty in it was enough to make that soft smile the most brilliant one she'd had in many a long year, "Yes, Orion. It's me. And yes, this is Mistoffelees. Mistoffelees, your father."

"You're a lot bigger then last time I saw you," Orion remarked, a paw almost going out automatically to rest on Sera's arm.

"I was a kit then," Mistoffelees replied, still feeling stiff.

"What happened?" Orion asked, looking back over at his wife. "I got a telegram after years but I still don't know why."

Sera pursed her lips at that question, "My brother happened. I believed you dead until the morning that telegram was sent."

His eyes widened. "Really?"

"Truly," Mistoffelees said. "I found all your letters when I was dealing with his papers."

The red tabby gave him a long look. "You have grown up, haven't you?"

"It's been quite a few years," Mistoffelees said. "Age is bound to do that."

Serafine nodded, "We have the carriage waiting, and it would be far better to continue in private."

He laughed then, nodding. "Well, some things in England never change."

His wife offered him another of her soft smiles, nodding toward where they had left the driver and carriage, "Then shall we return to the house?"

"Is it the same townhouse?" Orion asked. "Will Jones be there?"

"It's the same townhouse," Mistoffelees agreed. "My uncle will not be present however."

Glancing at her son, Sera answered a bit more clearly, "My brother has passed recently. Mistoffelees now owns the estate."

"I," the orange tabby blinked. "Should I be sorry?"

"Probably not," Mistoffelees shrugged, getting in the carriage. "Mourning is a formality."

Orion shot his wife a half startled look.

Serafine suppressed a smile as she climbed in as well, "There is some loss, but not much. My greatest concern is for his daughter and her mental state. But, no, there was no love lost between myself and my brother, and he always saw Mistoffelees as first your son, second mine, and third his heir."

"I'm just surprised at how blasé he was," Orion muttered after them before stepping inside. "So, you're the Baron now?"

Mistoffelees tried to offer him a smile. "Yes. There have been some troubles with the estate. He left it in quite a large amount of debt."

"I can help," Orion said, quickly. "I've actually made quite a bit of money in Australia."

"Don't help too quickly," Mistoffelees said with a smile. "I want to justify selling off some of his effects first."

That finally earned a quiet laugh from his mother, "Please tell me that atrocity in the front parlor at the country house will be leaving? Beyond the properties I'm certain you're having seen to."

Her son smiled again and Orion relaxed slightly. "I believe that has already been picked up to be taken away for auction."

"Oh thank the lord," she murmured. "I will never understand the purpose of that piece."

"To look as pretentious as he could?" Orion offered.

"Quite probably," Sera agreed.

Mistoffelees glanced once more at his father, trying to keep his ears up. "It's good to see you," he said, softly.

Orion glanced at him, and reached a paw out, resting it on the black tom's shoulder. "It's nice to meet you now."

Serafine looked between the two most important toms in her life and settled back against the seat with a smile.

v.v.v.v

The wedding of Munkustrap and Bombalurina was hardly the social event of the season. In fact, it wasn't even on the season's calendar. But the day dawned beautifully, and found Tugger trying to figure out the laces at the last possible moment.

"Everything was fine this morning," Bomba snapped.

"That was this morning, apparently," Tugger said. "Hold still, your veil is crooked."

Munkustrap, meanwhile, was bordering on panic in another room. Everything was planned and prepared and set for the ceremony, but he couldn't seem to keep still, and likely wouldn't until he was actually at the altar standing next to her, and he certainly wouldn't relax until after the ceremony.

Macavity looked at him over his glass. "You look tense."

"Of course I'm tense, Mac. Wouldn't you be?"

The ginger tabby thought about Victoria, and how brightly she smiled at him over paperwork and bit back a faint smile. "Okay, point. But this is supposed to be a happy day."

Munkus offered his older brother a nervous smile, "And it is, Mac. Happiest day I've had so far, perhaps. But that doesn't mean I'm not completely on edge about it."

"You'll do fine. You just have to remember a vow, right?" Mac said, resting a paw on his shoulder.

"I...yes, just the vow."

"Then you'll do fine. You're good with words."

Munkus offered him a faint, crooked smile, "Thanks Mac."

"You're a big kitten," Macavity smirked at him. "Just act like you always do and you'll be fine."

"Like you're much better," his younger brother responded, shaking his head.

"I'm not getting married."

"Ever?" the silver tabby countered.

"Not today," Macavity said, eyes widening slightly. "If I end up married, we'll deal with that when it comes. For now, you calm down and I'll go check on Tugger."

Munkustrap drew a steadying breath and nodded, "Alright. I'll see you in a bit."

Macavity moved back, meeting Tugger in the hall. "You look on edge," the ginger remarked.

"The bride has been put together," Tugger returned. "That's all I can give you right now." He swiped Macavity's drink, getting a scowl from the other tom.

The wedding was a small, intimate affair and the ceremony was neither too long nor too short. The bride was lovely in her gown and the groom handsome at her side. Surrounded by friends and family Munkustrap Hollister and Bombalurina Harris were wed. It made no difference in the way society moved, but two lives were intertwined and if the road ahead was hard, they would face it together whatever came.

It was, in other words, everything a wedding should have been.

Jemima turned to Pouncival when the ceremony ended, offering him a small smile. Scandal had already exploded over their engagement, which had just gone public. "It's lovely," she murmured. "Do you think we could get away with as little fuss?"

"I think we've already created far more fuss," he answered with a grin. "But I think we might be able to  _attempt_  it."

She laughed. "You're right. I can handle a larger wedding for your sake more than anything."

Pounce chuckled, "Glad to hear that. I'd rather it not be much bigger either, honestly."

"We'll manage, whatever comes," she smiled. "Come, we must speak to them."

"Oh, I suppose if we must," He grinned in response, offering her his arm.

"You'd like them fine if you knew them better," she grinned.

"I have no doubt of that, after all, you like them."

Laughing, she hooked her arm through his and dragged him up. "I'm so happy for you," she told Bomba, who beamed, happier then she'd been in a long time.

Pounce shook Munkustrap's paw offering quiet congratulations. The patched tom turned to Bomba, "All Happiness to the both of you in this."

"Thank you," she said, smiling at him before glancing back at Jemi. "I suppose I'll soon enough have my own congratulations to offer. Except you're taking my darling friend all the way to America. Just be sure that if you let harm come to her, an ocean probably wouldn't be enough."

Pouncival smiled at that, "I have no doubt that you would find some way to avenge her. I will do my best to love, cherish, and protect."

"Good," Bomba said and offered him a grin as Tugger approached.

Munkustrap offered his brother a smile as the leopard-print tom reached them, "Tugger."

Tugger engulfed him in a quick hug. "So, feel different yet?"

The silver tabby stiffened slightly at that, blinking, "A bit more relaxed, and far happier than I thought possible."

"Good," Tugger said, patting him on the shoulder. "Well, let me know what married life is like then. I hear it's supposed to be quite lovely."

"Supposed to be, yes," Munkus offered his younger brother a bit of a grin.

"You'd better hope it is," Bomba said, sliding an arm through his. "I've given up a very nice home for this." Tugger laughed.

The silver tabby offered his wife a smile, "I'm sure it will be."

She kissed him lightly, looking over at Tugger. "Is your place going to be alright by yourself?"

"I promise I'll eat and clean and everything," Tugger rolled his eyes.

Munkustrap chuckled at that protest, "Of course you will, Tug. Cleaning would mean more time away from your paper."

"The press has to be clean," Tugger said.

"But not necessarily the apartment?" his brother offered.

"I'll try to remember to clean that too," Tugger laughed.

Munkus grinned, "Careful, we may hold you to that."

"I said I'll try, not that I would promise," Tugger shook his head, kissing Bomba's cheek. "Congratulations again."

v.v.v.v

Mistoffelees curled up against Coricopat's shoulder, purring lightly. "Well, we almost got through an entire chess game that time."

That garnered a drowsy laugh, Coricopat's paw tracing up and down his lover's arm, "Almost. You were winning."

"Got distracted," he said, grinning again and moving his arm around the mottled tom's chest.

The taller cat smirked, purring, "Did you indeed? I never would have guessed."

Laughing, Mistoffelees starting tracing a pattern on his far arm. "Have things been... progressing alright?"

"They have been, yes. There are a couple of potential buyers for a few of the northern properties, and they're willing to pay handsomely for them," he replied, his eyes half-lidded and his voice almost sleepy.

"Good," Mistoffelees said, kissing his chin.

"How is it having your father here?" The mottled tom opened one eye fully to look at him.

"He..." the black tom paused a long moment. "Is very, well, loud. But he's kind. It's very different."

That earned a grin, "Well, kind is good."

"He's a dreamer," Mistoffelees grinned faintly. "I think you might like him."

"You know it takes me time to warm up to dreamers," Coricopat answered, tilting his head enough to kiss the tip of the other's ear.

The ear flickered. "You don't have to warm up that much," he laughed. "But, you would, in the end, like him."

The mottled tom chuckled, "I'll take your word for that."

Mistoffelees grinned, nuzzling his shoulder. "You should. You should take my word for everything. Especially as I'm a Baron now."

Laughing, Coricopat tilted his head back slightly, "A Baron you may be, but I still remember the tom who shared my umbrella and made me honest."

"Alright," Mistoffelees said, grinning broadly. "Listen to that tom then."

The solicitor arched his neck and leaned down to kiss his lover, "I intend to."

Curling his fingers against Coricopat's chest, Mistoffelees' smile turned softer. "I love you," the mottled tom murmured.

"And I the same to you," Mistoffelees murmured, a paw running through his mottled headfur.

Coricopat tilted his head into the touch, purring softly. Leaning in, Mistoffelees kissed him again, the movement languid and slow, letting himself relax back into the mottled tom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for introducing Orion so terribly late into the story. There was another arc we were discussing, but several factors got that cut out of the story, which makes his introduction feel a bit off. However, we hope you enjoyed the story as we come to what, at this point in time (and is likely to remain so) the end of the story. The biggest issue this story ever had was lack of an ending point so it doesn't feel very definitive (As well as the fact some plot points got smooshed together and other entire plots got cut). But, we hope you enjoyed the ride anyway!


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